ODneoftl)e 


BY  ANNA  FULLER 


1.  PRATT  PORTRAITS 

2.  A  LITERARY  COURTSHIP 

3.  PEAK   AND  PRAIRIE 

4.  A  VENETIAN  JUNE 

5.  ONE  OF  THE   PILGRIMS 


©ne  of  the  {  a 
pilgrims  *  \  *tor** 


JBg 

Hnna  fuller 


<3.  p.  putnam'*  Son* 
flew  i?orh  anD  XonOcu 

tlbe  Uniclierbocher  prea« 
1898 


COPYRIGHT,  1898 

BY 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 
Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London 


"Cbc  "Knickerbocker  press,  •Revc  JL'orh 


TO 

R.  F. 


2022333 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.— THE    PILGRIMS I 

II.— AN  AWKWARD  ALTERNATIVE  ...  14 
III.— THE  WIDOW  O'TooLE's  DIPLOMACY  .  28 
IV. — A  FORMAL  INTRODUCTION  ...  42 
V.— AN  UNAMBITIOUS  HERO  ....  55 
VI.— Miss  VICKERY  AT  HOME  ....  68 

VII.— HIGH  AND  Low 84 

VIII. — A  PLEASANT  DINNER       ....    101 

IX. — FLYNN'S  EYRIE 118 

X.— A  PHENOMENAL  CURE      .        .        .        .132 
XI. — THEORY  AND  PRACTICE    .        .        .        .144 

XII.— TRUXTON'S  UTOPIA 157 

XIII.— AN  UNLUCKY  WINDFALL  .        .        .        .170 

XIV.— FOREST  WAYS 185 

XV.— A  GOOD  SHOT 205 

v 


VI 


Contents 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVI.— OUT  OF  A  CLEAR  SKY      .        .        .        .  22  r 

XVII. — UNDER  A  CLOUD        .....  236 

XVIII.— POOR  EVERYBODY 252 

XIX.—  FLYNN'S  ROMANCE  BY  ADOPTION    .        .  269 

XX.— HUMBLE  HOSPITALITIES    .       .        .       .282 

XXI.— THE  TALE  OF  AN  OLD  COAT   .        .        .  296 

XXII.— THE  PROSE  OF  IT 309 

XXIII.— THE  POETRY  OF  IT 323 


©ue  of  the  jpilgiims 
H  Banfe  Storp 


ONE  OF  THE  PILGRIMS 


CHAPTER  I. 
THE  PILGRIMS. 

•  ^  I/YNN,  how  old  are  you  ?  ' '  asked  Frank 
r~"<  Truxton,  a  junior  clerk  of  the  Pilgrim 

A  Savings  Bank,  one  quiet  morning  in 
February. 

It  was  what  was  known  at  the  Pilgrim  as  the 
season  of  heavenly  rest,  when,  if  ever,  social 
amenities  are  in  order.  Money  was  not  to  go  on 
interest,  neither  was  interest  to  fall  due,  for  two 
months  to  come,  and  an  air  of  elegant  leisure  per- 
vaded the  establishment,  rather  accentuated  than 
otherwise  by  the  occasional  straggler  driven  by 
monetary  surplus  or  deficit  to  make  unseasonable 
application  at  the  long  counter. 

Flynn  paused  in  the  process  of  wetting  the 

"  spinges,"  the  most  arduous  duty  still  devolving 

upon  the  old  janitor  in  his  pension  days.     The 

' '  spinge ' '  in  question  was  a  diminutive  one  be- 

i 


2  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

longing  to  the  stout  and  fastidious  Mr.  Wilkin- 
son, and  Flynn  gave  it  a  tentative  squeeze  before 
committing  himself  to  a  reply.  The  result  being 
a  just  sufficient  ooze  of  moisture,  the  which 
showed  no  reprehensible  tendency  to  detach  itself 
from  the  surface  of  the  sponge,  Flynn  concluded 
that  he  was  at  liberty  to  consider  the  searching 
question  put  to  him.  He  turned  his  seamed  and 
seared  old  face  to  his  interlocutor  and  gave  a 
transparently  crafty  glance  at  the  quizzical  eyes 
that  met  his.  Then,  with  the  rising  inflection 
habitual  to  him,  he  said  :  "  Fiftee,  sixtee,  siven- 
tee,  wan,  two,  three, — somewhere  along  there, 
maybe. ' ' 

It  was  always  a  shock  to  the  uninitiated  to  hear 
Flynn  speak.  His  dress  was  so  much  that  of  the 
modest,  self-respecting  gentleman,  the  silk  hat 
which  he  wore  on  his  humblest  errands  was  so 
carefully  brushed,  his  boots  so  neatly  blacked, 
that  his  broad  Irish  brogue  took  the  stranger  by 
surprise.  In  his  latter  days,  especially,  when  the 
savings  of  forty  thrifty  years  had  placed  him  in 
easy,  not  to  say  opulent,  circumstances,  when  his 
semi-retirement  on  a  pension  had  relieved  him 
from  the  inconsiderable  stress  and  strain  of  active 
service,  his  deportment  had  taken  on  an  air  of 
leisurely  decorum  by  virtue  of  which  he  might 
easily  have  passed  muster  as  a  director  of  the 
bank.  The  gift  for  keeping  his  own  counsel,  so 
aptly  illustrated  in  his  reply  to  Truxton's  ques- 
tion, had  always  characterized  him. 


The  Pilgrims  3 

"  Here,  here,  Flynn,"  Truxton  remonstrated 
with  great  apparent  seriousness,  "  you  're  mak- 
ing yourself  out  nearly  two  hundred  years  old  !  ' ' 

"  How  's  that,  now  ?  " 

"  Why,  fifty  and  sixty  and  seventy  are  one 
hundred  and  eighty,  to  begin  with,  and  one,  two, 
three, — that  's  six  more  !  " 

The  old  man  bestowed  upon  his  ingenious  in- 
quisitor the  look  of  supreme  contempt  which  he 
always  took  refuge  in  when  he  found  himself 
cornered,  and  saying,  "  That  '11  do,  that  '11  do  !  " 
in  the  tone  he  might  have  adopted  toward  an 
importunate  child,  he  turned  on  his  heel  and 
sauntered  off  to  the  rear.  Here  he  established 
himself  behind  the  morning  paper  and  fell  to 
speculating  as  to  the  probable  meaning  of  certain 
three-  and  four- syllabled  words  which  had  in- 
truded themselves  into  the  account  of  so  simple  a 
matter  as  a  recent  burglary.  For  it  should  be 
borne  in  mind  that  English  was  a  foreign  tongue 
to  Flynn,  and,  as  Frank  Truxton  often  took  occa- 
sion to  remark,  the  rest  of  the  gang  might  bless 
their  stars  if  they  could  speak  any  foreign  tongue 
whatever  as  intelligibly  as  Flynn  spoke  English. 

Flynn  knew  his  value,  and  was  never  lavish 
with  his  society.  The  clerks  might,  in  a  moment 
of  irritation,  when  he  had  fetched  the  wrong 
ledger  or  upset  an  ink-bottle,  question  whether  he 
was  more  of  a  nuisance  or  an.  assistance  to  his 
fellow- workers  ;  but  we  may  be  sure  that  no  such 
doubt  ever  crossed  his  mind.  Nor  was  he  more 


4  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

convinced  of  his  importance  as  one  of  the  oldest 
props  of  the  great  Savings  Institution  than  of  the 
worth  of  his  social  qualities.  He  was  perfectly 
well  aware  that  he  was  not  only  a  source  of  amuse- 
ment but  of  perplexity  to  "  thim  young  fellers  "  ; 
that  not  one  of  them  had  ever  quite  made  him 
out.  As  long  as  they  did  not  know  whether  he 
meant  to  be  funny  or  not,  the  salt  of  his  casual 
remarks  or  his  humorous  protests  would  not  lose 
its  savor  ;  and  it  was  not  in  Barney  Flynn's 
scheme  to  enlighten  them  on  that  head.  Yes  ; 
they  would  miss  ' '  the  ould  man  ' '  when  the 
"  fiftee,  sixtee,  siventee  "  had  ended  in  zero;  they 
would  that  !  Indeed,  so  keen  was  his  sense  of 
the  void  his  departure  would  make,  that  he  was 
half  inclined  to  approve  Andy  Stone's  somewhat 
startling  proposition  that  when  Flynn  died  they 
should  have  him  stuffed  and  set  in  a  corner, 
with  the  Morning  Trumpeter  in  his  hand.  His 
own  figure,  thus  piously  preserved,  sometimes 
presented  itself  to  his  imagination  as  he  sat  in  his 
accustomed  corner  behind  the  newspaper,  mo- 
mentarily worsted,  perhaps,  in  his  encounter  with 
the  long  words,  and  he  had  a  very  strong  impres- 
sion that  that  stuffed  figure  would  be  the  chosen 
haunt,  during  bank  hours  at  least,  of  his  other- 
wise disembodied  spirit.  Certainly  he  would  be 
loath  to  relinquish  his  guardianship  of  the  insti- 
tution so  long  as  "  that  good  man,  Misther 
Trooxton,"  continued  to  enliven  its  austere  pre- 
cincts with  his  cheerful  presence. 


The  Pilgrims  5 

Flynn  had  already  served  close  upon  forty  years 
in  his  capacity  of  Guardian  Angel  to  the  Pilgrim 
Savings  Bank — a  function  erroneously  defined  as 
janitor  on  the  pay-roll  of  the  institution — when 
young  Truxton  made  his  appearance  in  the  ranks 
some  two  years  since. 

"  Wai  now  !  "  he  had  declared,  with  a  falling 
inflection,  in  answer  to  the  new  clerk's  inquiries, 
— and  it  may  be  well  to  note  at  the  outset  that 
Flynn's  inflections  were  in  most  cases  precisely 
the  reverse  of  those  which  would  be  selected  by 
an  Anglo-Saxon  in  a  similar  instance  ; — "  Wai 
now  !  me  and  Barry  was  the  furst  wans  here  of 
this  gang.  Saymar,  he  coom  along  a  matther  of 
six  years  afther. ' ' 

The  gentleman  thus  lightly  designated  was 
none  other  than  Mr.  Rufus  Seymour,  the  treas- 
urer of  the  institution,  a  dignitary  for  whom 
Flynn,  in  his  heart  of  hearts,  entertained  a  more 
profound  respect  than  for  any  other  human  crea- 
ture outside  St.  Peter's  chair.  But  Flynn  liked  to 
have  his  little  fling  in  the  presence  of  a  green 
hand,  and  this  bit  of  bravado  had  for  him  some- 
thing of  the  same  fearsome  relish  that  the  piously 
brought-up  youth  finds  in  his  initial  ventures  in 
profanity.  Who  can  say,  too,  that  the  old  man 
may  not  have  had  a  sly  notion  of  testing  the 
quality  of  his  new  colleague  ?  One  never  knew 
whether  or  not  to  read  between  the  lines  of 
Flynn's  remarks  ;  that  was  one  secret  of  his  fasci- 
nation. Whatever  may  have  been  his  motive,  it 


6  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

is  easy  to  imagine  the  glow  of  pleasure  with 
which  he  listened  to  the  youngster's  grave  re- 
joinder. 

"  Really,"  Truxton  had  observed  ;  "  you  've 
kept  Seymour  on  for  quite  a  while.  He  has  given 
good  satisfaction,  I  take  it. ' ' 

"  Pretty  fair,  pretty  fair,"  Flynn  admitted, 
with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  and  an  indescrib- 
able grimace,  intended  to  express  a  deprecatory 
indulgence.  "The  man  manes  well,  he  do 
that  !" 

From  that  day  forth,  Flynn  was  the  sworn 
friend  and  ally  of  young  Truxton,  whom  Harvey 
Winch  promptly  christened  "  Flynn's  protejay." 
Not  that  the  young  man  was  in  any  particular 
need  of  an  ally  and  patron.  On  the  contrary, 
he  had  early  scored  almost  as  marked  a  success 
with  his  fellow-clerks  as  with  the  admiring  Flynn, 
and  his  popularity  showed  as  yet  no  signs  of 
waning.  He  was  possessed  of  a  number  of  quali- 
ties which  are  calculated  to  ensure  the  good-will 
of  one's  fellow- creatures. 

To  begin  with,  there  was  his  sense  of  humor,  a 
gift  of  primary  importance  in  any  walk  of  life 
which  brings  a  man  in  contact  with  that  order  of 
human  beings  which,  in  a  democracy,  may  per- 
haps be  most  acceptably  designated  as  the  ex- 
asperating classes.  The  term  high  and  low  may 
be  very  properly  eliminated  from  the  vocabulary 
of  the  consistent  republican,  but  it  will  be  long 
before  the  mere  principle  and  practice  of  democ- 


The  Pilgrims  7 

racy  will  eliminate  from  the  composition  of  a 
sovereign  people  that  density  as  to  money  trans- 
actions which  characterizes  Pat  and  Beppo  and 
even  Hiram,  together  with  their  respective 
women-folk,  more  obviously,  if  not  more  essen- 
tially, than  those  who  have  enjoyed  greater  edu- 
cational advantages. 

Truxton  was  not  a  wit  ;  he  was  hardly  what 
our  grandfathers  would  have  termed  a  wag. 
That  post  was  filled  by  Aleck  Plummer,  the  pay- 
ing-teller, a  keen,  sometimes  caustic,  commentator 
on  life,  a  man  of  brains,  to  boot,  and  of  real 
financial  ability.  Yet  to  Truxton,  who  rarely 
made  a  brilliant  sally,  and  never  a  cutting  one, 
was  given  the  faculty  of  discovering  in  the  most 
trying  situation,  in  the  most  gratuitously  aggra- 
vating depositor,  that  delicate,  often  illusive,  grain 
of  humor  which,  to  him  who  has  the  perception 
to  find  it,  is  the  saving  salt  of  the  most  unpalat- 
able dish.  And  not  only  had  he  an  unerring 
sense  of  humor,  but  he  was  also  possessed  of  the 
gift  of  mimicry,  by  means  of  which  he  could  pass 
on  his  impressions  to  less  favored  ones. 

There  was  James  Judson,  for  instance,  the  elderly 
accountant,  confessedly  so  deficient  in  humor  that 
he  was  capable  of  conversing  for  fifteen  minutes 
on  end  with  Bridget  Ballahak,  the  bank's  favorite 
depositor,  without  experiencing  any  other  sensa- 
tion than  one  of  helpless  annoyance.  Yet  the 
sober-minded  Judson  had  been  known  to  laugh 
audibly  at  Truxton' s  impersonation  of  L,ydia 


8  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

Lally,  a  buxom  and  enthusiastic  widow  of  the 
down-east  persuasion,  whose  tone  had  become 
unduly  confidential  under  the  influence  of  the 
younger  clerk's  amused  sympathy.  And  this, 
although  the  open-hearted  L,ydia  was  a  depositor 
of  ten  years'  standing,  whom  nobody  had  "  dis- 
covered ' '  prior  to  the  advent  of  Truxton,  while 
the  redoubtable  Bridget  was  a  lady,  the  first 
glimpse  of  whose  phenomenal  bonnet  was  exciting 
to  the  risibles,  and  whose  riotous  eloquence  had 
once  caused  little  Billy  Denison  to  tumble  over 
the  waste-paper  basket,  from  sheer  inability  to 
hold  himself  upright.  There  could  be  no  ques- 
tion of  the  social  supremacy  of  a  man  who  could 
make  James  Judson  laugh  audibly  over  the  down- 
east  widow. 

But  although  Truxton  could  get  much  innocent 
mirth  for  himself  and  his  fellow-pilgrims  out  of 
the  unconscious  depositors,  who  were  not  only 
none  the  worse  for  it,  but  were  thereby  rendered 
interesting  and  acceptable  members  of  society,  he 
was  rarely,  if  ever,  guilty  of  an  indiscretion  where 
his  friends  were  concerned.  If  the  corpulent 
Wilkinson  was  sensitive  as  to  his  weight,  he  need 
not  dread  being  reminded  of  it  by  Frank  Trux- 
ton ;  if  Harvey  Winch,  who  prided  himself  upon 
his  rather  shaky  French,  was  familiarly  known 
by  the  name  of  Polly  Voo,  he  was  well  aware  that 
he  did  not  owe  the  obnoxious  sobriquet  to  the 
genial  humorist  whose  desk  was  next  his  own. 
Even  George  Bodley,  who  was  everybody's  butt, 


The  Pilgrims  9 

mainly  because  he  was  so  good-natured  that  no- 
body was  afraid  of  him,  even  he  had  not  yet  been 
made  to  wince  by  any  word  or  act  of  Frank  Trux- 
ton's.  And  this  tactfulness  on  the  part  of  the 
young  man  was  so  manifestly  due  to  his  being  a 
thoroughly  good  fellow,  that  it  was  doubly  en- 
dearing to  those  who  profited  by  it. 

When  one  adds  to  these  mental  and  moral  at- 
tributes an  open  and  prepossessing  countenance, 
and  a  certain  ease  and  force  of  bearing  which  made 
itself  felt  in  the  very  way  his  head  was  set  on  his 
shoulders,  it  becomes  apparent  that  Flynn  was 
not  far  wrong  in  opining  that  "  next  to  mesilf  an' 
Misther  Saymar  that  young  Trooxton  is  about  the 
best  man  o'  the  lot  !  " 

Truxton  was  the  youngest  but  one  of  the  pil- 
grims— as  the  clerks  were  wont  to  style  them- 
selves— being  now  just  turned  twenty-seven,  and 
when,  a  few  months  since,  it  leaked  out  that  he 
was  dabbling  in  Colorado  mining-stocks,  an  in- 
terest and  concern  little  short  of  grandfatherly 
manifested  itself  among  the  men.  And  it  was  at 
this  juncture  that  the  discovery  was  made  that 
Truxton,  with  all  his  good-nature,  could,  when 
he  chose,  be  as  reticent  as  the  best  of  them.  Yes, 
he  rather  guessed  there  was  gold  in  Colorado  ;  it 
could  hardly  be  all  a  fake.  No,  there  was  no 
particular  mine  that  he  had  special  confidence  in. 
It  was  pretty  much  all  a  gamble,  anyway.  The 
general  impression  seemed  to  be  that  the  cheap 
stocks  offered  the  best  chance  for  a  rise.  He  had 


io  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

a  friend  out  there,  a  stock-broker.  Would  any- 
body like  his  address  ? 

There  was  something  about  his  bearing  in  such 
interviews  that  forbade  categorical  questions,  and 
by  the  time  three  of  his  friends  had  said  enough 
to  convince  a  youth  of  less  ready  perceptions  that 
they  were,  one  and  all,  eager  to  ruin  themselves 
in  stock-gambling,  the  conviction  had  struck  root 
among  them  that  Truxton  proposed  to  mind  his 
own  business,  and  expected  other  people  to  mind 
theirs.  As  his  spirits  were  unflagging,  however, 
and  his  attention  to  business  as  prompt  and  satis- 
factory as  usual,  his  friends  embraced  the  hope 
that  a  merciful  fate  had  visited  upon  him  at  the 
outset  a  precautionary  experience  of  ill-luck, 
thereby  saving  him  from  serious  disaster.  No 
one  knew  what  Truxton' s  pecuniary  resources 
might  be,  but  it  was  safe  to  conclude  that  a  man 
in  opulent  circumstances  would  not  elect  to  handle 
small  bills  at  a  moderate  salary. 

Meanwhile  their  minds  had  taken  another  turn, 
thanks  to  the  initiative  of  the  astute  Flynn.  For 
it  is  a  fallacy  entertained  by  women,  literary  per- 
sons, tramps,  and  that  ilk,  instilled  into  their  too 
receptive  minds  by  those  who  ought  to  know 
better,  that  business  is  business  and  nothing  else. 
If  business  is  the  occupation  which  men  pursue 
in  the  haunts  of  trade  and  finance,  it  is  much  be- 
sides business.  It  is  observation  and  inference 
on  many  other  subjects  than  dollars  and  cents  ; 
it  is  interest  in  one's  fellow-creatures,  their  traits 


The  Pilgrims  1 1 

and  foibles,  their  fortunes  and  misfortunes.  And 
a  man  who  could  spend  five  or  six  hours  of  every 
day  in  the  uninterrupted  contemplation  of  dollars 
and  cents,  or  their  inky  symbols,  would  be  a  mon- 
ster of  inhumanity  such  as,  luckily,  has  never  yet 
found  its  way  into  the  ranks  of  the  good  old 
Pilgrim. 

It  was  therefore  not  without  a  certain  pleasant 
assurance  as  to  the  reception  his  hint  was  likely  to 
meet  with,  that  Flynn  had  sidled  up  to  Rathbone, 
the  receiving-teller,  one  busy  day,  a  few  weeks 
previous,  and  remarked,  in  a  stage  whisper  which 
only  seemed  to  accentuate  the  brogue  of  it : 
"  Sure,  an'  it  's  a  nate  figger  she  has  on  her!  " 

Rathbone  took  time  to  request ' '  Dinnis  O'  Flan- 
nigan,  your  Honor  ' '  to  assort  the  miscellaneous 
collection  of  small  bills  to  the  amount  of  "  siventy- 
wan  dollars  ' '  with  which  that  Hibernian  capital- 
ist was  desirous  of  enriching  the  coffers  of  the 
bank,  and  graciously  to  accept  two  silver  dollars 
which  a  puny,  fourth-rate  housemaid  proffered, 
before  he  glanced  in  the  direction  indicated  by 
Flynn. 

Taking  her  leave  of  Truxton  with  a  nod  and  a 
smile  of  unmistakable  good  understanding,  was 
a  very  charming  and  charmingly  clad  young  wo- 
man with  the  ' '  natest ' '  kind  of  a  ' '  figger  on 
her."  Rathbone  knew  her  well  by  name  and 
face.  For  several  years  past  she  had  been  a  fre- 
quent visitor  at  the  bank,  having  in  charge  the 
accounts  of  a  number  of  Irish  and  Italians,  on 


1 2  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

whose  books  she  was  in  the  habit  of  making  small 
deposits  from  time  to  time. 

Rathbone,  who  was  rather  fond  of  taking  the 
unpopular  side  in  questions  of  the  day,  and  who 
professed  a  hardened  scepticism  in  regard  to  phil- 
anthropic works — though  it  must  be  admitted 
that  the  trained  instinct  of  the  professional  beggar 
had  long  since  pierced  this  shallow  pretence, — 
Rathbone,  the  sceptic,  had  opined  that  it  was  a 
crying  shame  for  a  girl  like  that  to  bother  her 
head  about  those  good-for-nothing  paupers. 
Your  professional  sceptic,  by  the  way,  is  nothing 
if  not  illogical,  and,  for  argumentative  purposes, 
a  savings-bank  capitalist  was  as  good  a  pauper  as 
another. 

On  the  occasion  of  Flynn's  stage  whisper,  the 
receiving-teller  had  the  satisfaction  of  assuring 
himself  that  Miss  Ruth  Ware  was  not  so  exclu- 
sively given  over  to  good  works  as  to  be  oblivious 
to  the  pleasanter  aspects  of  life,  the  which,  in  this 
instance,  were  fairly  well  represented  in  the  per- 
son of  Frank  Truxton. 

And  since  there  exists  a  wide-spread  impression 
that  business  men,  even  if  not  the  sticks  and 
stones  which  they  are  popularly  represented  as 
being,  are  at  least  above  gossip,  it  is  impossible  for 
the  present  chronicler  to  offer  any  good  working 
theory  in  explanation  of  the  fact  that  the  next 
time  Miss  Ruth  Ware  had  occasion,  in  the  trans- 
action of  her  business,  to  exchange  a  word  with 
Truxtou,  more  than  one  of  the  clerks  was  as 


The  Pilgrims  13 

keenly  aware  of  the  fact  as  Barney  Flynn  himself. 

It  was  the  morning  of  that  philosopher's  care- 
fully considered  response  to  Truxton's  indiscreet 
inquiry  as  to  his  age,  he  being  still  withdrawn 
behind  his  newspaper  fastness,  that  he  became 
aware  that  she  was  "  by."  He  peered  out  from 
behind  his  paper,  taking  in  not  only  the  attractive 
young  woman  and  her  interlocutor,  but  the  little 
breath  of  interest,  imperceptible  to  the  uninitiated, 
which  just  stirred  the  gang  on  that  quiet  February 
morning,  and,  when  the  young  lady  stepped 
lightly  away,  Truxton,  reluctantly  turning  his 
eyes  from  her  retreating  figure,  heard  a  voice  at 
his  elbow  remarking,  in  a  tone  of  the  most  insin- 
uating intelligence  :  "  Howly  Mary  !  but  how 
spry  she  is  on  her  feet  ! ' ' 

That  was  all, — but  one  glance  at  the  face  at  his 
shoulder,  with  its  look  of  abnormal  sagacity,  was 
enough.  Truxton  knew  that  he  was  betrayed. 


CHAPTER  II. 

AN  AWKWARD  ALTERNATIVE. 

NOT  that  there  was  anything  in  particular  to 
betray  when  all  is  told.  If  the  begin- 
ning of  Frank  Truxton's  acquaintance 
with  Miss  Ruth  Ware  had  been  marked  by  cer- 
tain unusual  features  which  gave  it  a  character 
of  its  own,  it  had  not  yet  progressed  so  far  as 
to  claim  the  attention  of  the  curious.  In  order, 
therefore,  to  do  justice  to  a  situation  in  which  the 
genial  Flynn  had  created  a  factitious  interest,  it 
is  necessary  to  recur  to  the  circumstances  of  a 
certain  introduction  which  had  taken  place  some 
few  weeks  previous. 

And,  first  of  all,  since  introductions  are  in 
order,  it  should  be  stated  that  Miss  Ruth  Ware 
was  a  young  woman  of  some  little  consequence  in 
what  is  technically  known  as  society,  a  conse- 
quence which  she  owed  primarily  to  the  fact  that 
her  family  had  for  several  generations  been  people 
of  character  and  means.  She  was,  however,  of 
at  least  equal  consequence  in  an  humble  world  of 


An  Awkward  Alternative  1 5 

her  own  choosing,  where  neither  character  nor 
means  was  conspicuous,  and  this  importance  was 
a  much  more  individual  affair,  being  due  to  strictly 
personal  considerations. 

If  any  other  child  of  Mr.  Caleb  Ware's  had 
gone  in  for  philanthropy  he  would  have  depre- 
cated the  step — and  deprecation  on  Mr.  Ware's 
part  was  a  pretty  serious  matter  for  his  family — 
but  to  Ruth  he  offered  no  opposition.  This  was 
partly  because  she  made  so  little  stir  about  her 
good  works  that  it  was  quite  possible  for  her 
people  to  forget  what  her  elder  brother  designated 
as  her ' '  extensive  acquaintance  among  our  foreign 
constituency,"  and  partly  because  of  her  father's 
well-founded  conviction  that  she  was  too  level- 
headed to  run  things  into  the  ground. 

Ruth  Ware,  then,  thanks  to  the  possession  of  a 
fair  degree  of  good  judgment  and  an  engaging 
personality,  had  made  herself  morally  the  prop 
and  mainstay  of  more  than  one  tottering  edifice 
of  family  life.  She  had  even,  in  a  number  of  in- 
stances, succeeded  in  establishing  a  solid  under- 
pinning of  thrift  and  self-respect,  more  enduring 
than  any  outside  support. 

Among  other  qualifications  for  her  chosen  task, 
she  possessed  a  quite  unusual  faculty  of  extract- 
ing, from  a  seemingly  depleted  exchequer,  stray 
coins  which  might  otherwise  have  filtered  away 
into  the  sand  of  hereditary  wastefulness  or  heredi- 
tary worse-than-that,  and  no  lingering  and  wist- 
ful glances  of  Lucia,  no  deprecatory  growls  of  Pat, 


1 6  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

could  move  her  to  abate  one  jot  of  her  exactions. 
As  a  consequence  of  this  firm  and  sagacious  policy, 
it  had  more  than  once  occurred  that  the  improvi- 
dent Pat  had  waked  one  fine  morning  to  find 
himself  a  capitalist  to  the  tune  of  some  thirty-odd 
dollars  in  the  Pilgrim  Savings  Bank  ;  or  that  the 
inconsequent  L,ucia  had  imbibed,  in  a  misty  way, 
the  knowledge  that  a  hundred  ten-cent  pieces  en- 
trusted to  this  remarkable  financial  hot-house 
were  productive,  in  course  of  time,  of  other  ten- 
cent  pieces  of  equally  authentic  coinage.  This 
was,  of  course,  something  far  beyond  the  mental 
grasp  of  the  beautiful  and  appealing  daughter  of 
Italy  ;  but  then,  was  not  the  world  a  storehouse 
of  mystery,  and  why  should  not  the  same  great 
Power  that  had  snatched  her  baby  from  her,  and 
had  closed  her  ears  so  that  she  could  not  com- 
prehend the  human  speech  of  this  strange  land, 
perform,  just  once  in  a  way,  a  small  miracle  in 
behalf  of  la  poverina  ? 

It  is  not  to  be  inferred  that  our  financiering 
philanthropist  bore  to  the  bank  each  dime  and 
quarter  fresh  from  the  reluctant  hand  of  its 
owner.  On  the  contrary,  she  rarely  offered  for 
acceptance  a  deposit  of  less  magnitude  than  five 
dollars,  and  the  private  banking  business  which 
she  was  thus  obliged  to  carry  on  in  her  own  purse, 
so  to  speak,  involved  her  in  an  endless  task  of 
bookkeeping,  the  performance  of  which  would 
have  done  credit  to  James  Judson,  or  the  Secretary 
of  the  United  States  Treasury.  This  somewhat 


An  Awkward  Alternative  1 7 

incongruous  association  of  ideas,  by  the  way,  may 
find  its  justification  in  Aleck  Hummer's  confident 
assertion  that  there  is  quite  as  much  brain- work 
required  in  the  calculation  of  nickels  as  in  that  of 
millions,  and  that,  as  far  as  the  larger  question 
of  surplus  and  deficit  goes,  the  problem  which  the 
United  States  Treasurer,  with  all  his  vast  re- 
sources, has  to  solve,  is  a  mere  bagatelle  when 
compared  with  that  of  a  man  whose  income  is 
insufficient. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  Ruth  Ware  performed  her 
own  modest  task  with  gratifying  success,  and  as 
often  as  one  of  her  open  accounts  approached  the 
five-dollar  limit  she  gloated  over  it  with  a  satis- 
faction little  short  of  avaricious. 

So  enamored  was  she  of  the  Pilgrim  Savings 
Bank  and  its  beneficent  mission  in  the  world,  that 
she  had  once  ventured  so  far  out  of  her  accus- 
tomed line  of  influence  as  to  advise  Ophelia  Pye, 
a  young  Vermont  seamstress  of  her  acquaintance, 
to  deposit  there  the  whole  of  a  seven-hundred 
dollar  legacy  which  had  recently  dropped  like  a 
sudden  sunbeam  into  the  meagre,  toilsome  life  of 
the  girl.  Ophelia,  who  had  an  unbounded  re- 
spect for  Miss  Ruth's  judgment,  reinforced  in 
this  instance  by  her  own  native  New  England 
thriftiness,  repaired  forthwith  to  the  Pilgrim 
Savings  Bank,  where  she  already  had  a  small 
account,  there  to  deposit  her  treasure. 

It  was  quarter-day  and  a  long  line  of  people 
were  waiting  their  turn.  She  took  her  place  in 


1 8  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

the  queue  and  resigned  herself  to  the  slow  pro- 
gress of  events.  Very  slow  it  was,  too,  but  like  all 
but  the  classic  lane  it  had  its  turning,  and  at  the 
end  of  twenty  minutes  she  found  herself  only  two 
removes  from  the  counter.  She  opened  her  book, 
between  the  leaves  of  which  she  had  placed  her 
roll  of  bills.  The  money  was  gone  ! 

For  a  hideous  moment  the  poor  girl's  heart 
stopped  beating  ;  then  it  made  up  for  lost  time, 
and  her  brain  labored  with  equal  rapidity.  She 
instantly  remembered  that  she  had  not  examined 
her  book  since  leaving  home  ;  she  remembered 
also  having  handled  it  rather  carelessly  in  making 
room  for  a  neighbor  on  the  seat  of  the  car  in 
which  she  had  come  down  town.  So  clear  was 
she  that  she  had  then  and  there  dropped  the 
money,  that  she  turned  without  a  word  of  inquiry 
and  left  the  bank. 

The  line  closed  in  behind  the  spare  young 
figure,  as  the  stream  of  life  always  closes  in  upon 
a  gap,  and  one  by  one,  in  slow,  almost  rhythmic, 
succession,  the  other  drops  of  the  stream  de- 
tached themselves  and  trickled  off  in  their  widely 
diverging  channels.  Yet  not  until  the  clocks  of 
the  city  struck  two,  and  Flynn,  standing  stern  as 
Fate  with  his  hand  upon  the  great  door,  closed  it 
against  belated  comers,  did  the  stream  show  signs 
of  diminution.  It  was  close  upon  three  o'clock 
before  the  current  had  fairly  spent  itself  and  the 
tired  clerks  could  take  time  to  breathe. 

The  last  depositor  of  all  had  been  a  giddily 


An  Awkward  Alternative          19 

dressed,  well-to-do  Irish  woman  who  gave  her 
name  as  Catharine  Murphy.  She  was  a  new  de- 
positor, and  Rathbone,  knowing  well  the  propen- 
sity of  the  average  man  and  woman  to  withhold 
a  possible  middle  name  until  some  later  day,  when 
the  inconsiderate  announcement  of  it  cannot  fail 
to  confuse  the  counsels  of  the  bookkeeper,  was 
subjecting  her  to  a  searching  inquiry  on  that 
head. 

"  Have  .you  a  middle  name  ?  "  he  had  asked 
in  the  prompt  business  tone  which  brooks  no 
evasion. 

"  What  'sthat,  sorr?" 

' '  Have  you  a  middle  name  ?  ' ' 

"Is  it  a  middle  name  your  honor  was  afther 
axin'  ?  " 

' '  Yes  :  have  you  a  middle  name  ?  ' ' 

The  careful  enunciation  of  the  sentence  was 
equalled  only  by  the  simplicity  of  its  tenor. 

"  Wa-al,"  said  Catharine,  making  several 
syllables  of  the  word,  and  contracting  her  features 
in  a  speculative  scowl,  "  whin  I  was  a  gyurl  in 
the " 

4 '  Have  you  a  middle  name  ?  ' '  Rathbone  thun- 
dered, in  so  fierce  and  blood-curdling  a  voice  that 
all  the  clerks  paused  delightedly  to  listen,  while 
Flynn  edged  a  trifle  nearer. 

The  dressy  depositor,  frightened  almost  out  of 
her  wits,  gathered  herself  together  for  a  desperate 
effort  and  with  shaking  voice  replied,  "  Naw, 
sorr  ;  I  'm  a  widdy  lady  !  " 


2O  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

The  rest  of  her  business  was  transacted  under 
a  cloud  of  irritation  on  the  one  side  and  of  agi- 
tated anxiety  on  the  other,  and  the  widow  lady 
was  only  too  glad  to  make  good  her  escape 
through  the  door  which  Flynn  held  open  for  her, 
in  a  gingerly  manner,  as  if  expecting  countless 
hordes  to  storm  the  fortress. 

Flynn,  whose  labors  were  thus  brought  to  a 
close,  turned  away  from  the  door,  a  portentous 
frown  upon  his  furrowed  countenance.  It  had 
been  an  arduous  day  for  the  old  janitor,  whose 
function  on  such  occasions  was  to  keep  the  line  in 
order  ;  an  undertaking  requiring  the  alertness  of 
a  shepherd  dog  when  the  flock  is  on  its  travels. 
He  donned  hat  and  coat  with  a  weary  air,  and  as 
he  passed  Truxton's  desk  he  remarked,  in  a  tone 
of  profound  discouragement  :  "  These  Irish  wo- 
men martifies  me  !  " 

A  couple  of  hours  later,  Truxton,  who  chanced 
to  be  one  of  the  last  to  leave  the  bank,  passed  out 
from  behind  the  counter.  As  he  directed  his  steps 
toward  the  door  he  espied  a  small  object  lying  in 
the  shadow  under  a  settee.  Curiosity  and  fatigue 
had  a  short  but  sharp  conflict  in  which  the  former 
triumphed  and,  stooping,  the  young  man  picked 
up  what  proved  to  be  nothing  less  than  Ophelia 
Pye's  roll  of  bills.  He  was  at  a  loss  to  understand 
how  such  a  sum  of  money  should  not  have  been 
missed  and  reported,  but  this  was  happily  no  con- 
cern of  his,  and,  handing  the  bills  over  to  the 
paying-teller,  who  was  still  immersed  in  figures, 


An  Awkward  Alternative          21 

he  made  his  way  to  a  neighboring  cafe"  in  search 
of  a  dish  of  chowder.  He  was  very  glad  that 
the  money  had  not  been  swept  away  with  the 
waste  papers,  but  he  was  still  more  immediately 
gratified  to  find  that  the  chowder  was  hot  and 
palatable. 

A  cautious  advertisement  was  inserted  in  the 
daily  papers,  making  so  vague  an  allusion  to  a 
sum  of  money  found  in  the  city  that  it  seemed 
doubtful  whether  it  would  attract  the  attention  of 
the  rightful  owner,  while  it  would  have  been  a 
sanguine  impostor  indeed  who  should  have  at- 
tempted to  gain  unlawful  possession  of  it. 

Happily  for  Ophelia  Pye,  and  happily,  too, 
perhaps,  for  Miss  Ruth  Ware,  the  latter  had  been 
apprised  of  the  disastrous  outcome  of  the  under- 
taking which  she  herself  had  instigated,  and  no 
item  of  the  newspaper  "  Founds  "  was  likely  to 
escape  her  notice. 

It  was  the  January  quarter,  when  interest  does 
not  fall  due  at  the  Pilgrim,  and  a  lull  had 
quickly  succeeded  the  turmoil  of  the  past  week 
or  two.  Two  days  after  quarter-day  Truxton  was 
sitting  at  his  desk,  which  stood  at  some  distance 
from  the  counter,  when  he  became  aware  of  a 
little  eddy  of  interest  centring  about  a  certain 
point."  Mr.  Smith,  the  vice-treasurer,  had  come 
down  from  the  front  office,  and  was  engaged  in 
earnest  conversation  with  two  young  women,  one 
of  whom  was  a  familiar  figure  among  the  de- 
positors. Truxton  recognized  her  as  that  nice 


22  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

girl  whom  Rathbone  liked  to  growl  about  because 
she  was  wasting  herself  on  paupers.  At  the  mo- 
ment she  was  listening  intently  to  the  dialogue 
that  was  going  on  between  her  companion  and 
the  vice-treasurer,  and  somehow,  as  Truxton 
studied  her  unconscious  countenance,  it  was  borne 
in  upon  him  that  Rathbone' s  concern  was  prob- 
ably gratuitous.  The  face  was  singularly  sym- 
pathetic— there  could  be  no  doubt  of  that — but 
neither  could  there  be  any  doubt  of  the  humor 
and  the  good  sense  which  were  so  refreshingly 
apparent  in  the  cut  of  the  eyes  and  the  play  of 
the  features.  He  had  a  notion,  too,  that  that 
bright  warm  brown  hair  was  usually  associated 
with  a  cheerful  disposition.  In  short,  he  felt  en- 
couraged to  believe  that  this  young  woman's 
philanthropic  tendencies  might  be  fruitful  of  as 
much  good  to  others  and  as  little  harm  to  herself 
as  is  to  be  reasonably  anticipated  of  any  human 
enterprise. 

On  this  occasion  at  least  she  had  apparently 
succeeded  in  accomplishing  her  object,  for  Mr. 
Smith,  after  exchanging  a  few  words  with  her, 
nodded  his  head  with  a  look  of  grave  conviction 
and,  turning,  gave  an  order  to  one  of  the  clerks. 
There  was  much  noting  of  details  upon  an  official 
blank,  a  roll  of  bills  was  produced,  a  paper  was 
signed  by  both  young  women,  and  Truxton 
thought,  with  a  passing  interest,  that  the  $750  had 
found  an  owner. 

He  had  made  an  addition  that  would  not  prove, 


An  Awkward  Alternative  23 

a  circumstance  not  perhaps  to  be  wondered  at,  and 
he  was  on  the  point  <3f  rectifying  it  when  he  heard 
a  voice,  close  at  hand,  saying  :  "  Truxton,  you  're 
wanted.  The  owner  of  that  money  you  found 
has  turned  up,  and  she  wishes  to  thank  you." 

"  Oh,  the  devil  !  "  Truxton  exclaimed  in  lively 
perturbation.  "  I  don't  want  to  be  thanked  !  " 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  can't  get  out  of  it,"  said  Mr. 
Smith,  much  amused.  "  Step  up  and  face  the 
music  like  a  man." 

"  I  '11  be  blessed  if  I  won't  pocket  the  next  roll 
of  bills  I  find,"  the  victim  protested,  accepting 
the  situation  with  the  worst  possible  grace. 

As  Truxton  approached  the  counter  where  the 
two  young  women  were  standing,  he  found  him- 
self wishing  that  it  were  the  pretty  one  that  he 
had  to  deal  with.  They  would  understand  one 
another,  he  thought,  with  a  word  ;  at  least  there 
would  be  no  ridiculous  fuss  about  it.  But  this 
pale,  homely,  ill-dressed  one  had  a  look  of  tragic 
tension  about  her  which  boded  ill  for  the  interview. 

"  This  is  Mr.  Truxton,"  the  vice-treasurer 
announced  ;  "  the  gentleman  who  found  your 
money.  Good  day,  good  day  !  " — upon  which 
he  considerately  turned  away,  leaving  Truxton 
unobserved  in  his  discomfiture — unobserved  by 
him,  at  least,  but  intensely  conscious  of  a  pair  of 
pleasant  brown  eyes  that  were  regarding  him  with 
a  friendly  interest  almost  as  distasteful  to  him  at 
that  moment  as  the  ardent  though  embarrassed 
gratitude  of  the  poor  seamstress. 


24  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

"  I  wanted  to  thank  you,  sir,  for  my  money;  I 
am  very  grateful  to  you ' ' ;  and  with  that  the 
agitated  Ophelia  held  out  her  hand  in  which 
Truxton  beheld  to  his  horror  a  ten-dollar  bill. 

' '  You  misunderstand  the  thing, ' '  he  protested, 
in  real  consternation.  "  The  money  was  found 
here  in  the  bank.  I  had  no  more  choice  about 
passing  it  in  than  if  it  had  been  handed  me  for 
deposit." 

The  pale,  pinched  face  of  the  girl  flushed 
slowly. 

"  It  was  all  I  had,"  she  said,  still  proffering  the 
obnoxious  bank-note  ;  "  and  you  have  saved  it 
for  me.  You  must  let  me  thank  you  for  it. ' ' 

"  I  tell  you  I  can't  !  "  cried  Truxton,  sharply, 
about  to  turn  his  back  upon  a  preposterous  situa- 
tion. 

Ruth  Ware  was  busying  herself  with  the  con- 
tents of  a  neat  little  embroidered  bag  which  she 
held  in  her  hand.  She  had  perceived  from  the 
outset  that  Ophelia  was  blundering,  but  she  could 
not  well  interpose.  At  Truxton' s  words  she  in- 
voluntarily looked  up,  struck  by  the  harshness 
of  the  young  man's  tone  and  manner,  which  he 
himself  was  only  half  aware  of. 

But  Ophelia  could  not  yield.  Her  Yankee 
sense  of  the  fitness  of  things  made  it  morally  im- 
possible for  her  to  pocket  all  that  money  without 
taking  the  only  means  known  to  her  of  acknow- 
ledging her  obligation. 

' '  Please  take  it  !  "  she  urged,  and  there  was  a 


An  Awkward  Alternative  25 

break  in  the  voice  that  arrested  the  attention  of 
the  young  man  who  was  about  retreating  from 
the  field. 

He  turned  and  saw  that  there  were  actual  tears 
in  the  girl's  eyes,  and  that  the  worn  face  looked 
hurt  and  grieved.  He  could  not  stand  out 
against  that.  Better  disgrace  himself  in  a  pros- 
perous woman's  sight  than  pain  like  that  a  poor 
and  forlorn  one. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  extending  his  hand  ; 
' '  as  you  wish  ;  and  thank  you  very  much. ' ' 

Five  minutes  later  he  had  looked  up  Ophelia 
Pye's  address  on  the  books  and  was  writing  a 
check  for  ten  dollars  to  her  order. 

Ruth  Ware,  walking  up  the  hill  to  the  pleasant 
old  elm-grown  square  where  her  father's  house 
stood,  wished  that  she  could  have  been  sure  of 
the  young  man's  motive  in  this  sudden  change 
of  front.  She  liked  to  believe  that  he  had  sacri- 
ficed his  pride  to  spare  Ophelia's  feelings — in  fact, 
it  was  difficult  for  her  not  to  believe  it  ;  but  she 
was  training  herself  not  to  take  the  foolishly 
optimistic  view  of  her  kind.  And,  perhaps  be- 
cause she  was  not  able  to  satisfy  herself  on  this 
head,  she  thought  often  that  day  of  the  young 
bank-clerk — of  the  pleasant  character  his  face 
had  'preserved  under  the  successive  emotions  of 
embarrassment,  irritation,  and — was  it  compunc- 
tion ?  She  hoped  so.  A  man  With  just  his  par- 
ticular turn  of  countenance  must  have  nice 
perceptions.  And  very  glad  she  was  to  find  the 


26  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

supposition  verified  the  following  evening  by  the 
note  which  Ophelia  came  to  advise  with  her 
about. 

"  For  you  see,  Miss  Ruth,"  Ophelia  said,  "  I 
want  to  do  what  is  right,  and  I  think  this  money 
belongs  to  him  ;  but  I  don't  know  how  to  make 
him  take  it. ' ' 

The  two  young  women  were  sitting  together  in 
the  room  that  had  been  Ruth's  ever  since  she 
could  remember.  It  was  a  room  with  an  atmos- 
phere, thanks  to  which  Ophelia  seemed  no  more 
out  of  place  in  it  than  the  mistress  herself,  though 
the  latter  chanced  on  this  occasion  to  be  making 
an  unusually  fine  appearance.  She  was  dressed 
for  the  opera  ;  but  Ophelia,  quite  oblivious  of  this 
accidental  magnificence,  had  eyes  only  for  the 
face  from  which  she  hoped  to  gather  light  and 
counsel. 

Ruth  took  the  note  and  read  it  with  a  glow  of 
satisfaction.  It  ran  as  follows  : 

"  Miss  OPHELIA  PYE, 

"  Dear  Madam  :  It  was  most  kind  of  you  to  offer  me 
this  generous  gift,  but  I  should  be  a  rascal  if  I  were  to  ac- 
cept it.  So  please  say  no  more  about  it.  I  am  thankful 
that  you  have  got  your  money  back,  and  I  hope  you  will 
hold  on  to  it  this  time. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"FRANK  TRUXTON." 

"Well,  Miss  Ruth,"  Ophelia  asked,  "what 
do  you  advise  me  to  do  ?  " 


•A  n  A  wkward  A  Her  native          2  7 

Ruth  looked  up  from  the  letter  which  she  had 
twice  read  through. 

"  Do?  Why,  there  's  nothing  to  do.  He  is 
right  and  you  are  wrong." 

"  You  really  think  so  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do." 

"  And  had  n't  I  ought  to  have  offered  him  the 
money  ? ' ' 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  ought  or  not," 
said  Ruth  ;  "  but  I  am  very  glad  you  did." 

Hours  later,  when  Ruth  Ware  sat  again  before 
her  fire,-  burning  low  and  dim,  the  thought  of 
Ophelia's  letter  got  itself  caught  in  a  wayward, 
reminiscent  strain  of  music  that  the  Meistersanger 
had  left  echoing  through  her  brain.  And  it  hap- 
pened that,  dismissing  for  a  moment  the  melodi- 
ous cobblers,  she  let  herself  be  stirred  once  more 
by  the  memory  of  a  certain  homely  incident  of 
real  life  until,  before  she  knew  it,  she  found  her- 
self saying,  under  her  breath  :  ' '  That  is  what  I 
call  chivalrous  !  " 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   WIDOW  O'TOOLE'S   DIPLOMACY. 

AS  for  Frank  Truxton,  it  was  with  anything 
but  satisfaction  that  he  thought  of  the 
incident  from  which  Miss  Ruth  Ware  was 
drawing  inferences  so  complimentary  to  himself. 
He  had  been  forced  to  do  a  particularly  distaste- 
ful thing,  to  place  himself  in  a  false  position  in 
the  eyes  of  a  girl  whose  approval  could  not  be  in- 
different to  anybody — or  so  he  told  himself. 
Supposing  he  was  nothing  to  her;  supposing  she 
would  never  think  of  him  again, — and  he  devoutly 
hoped  that  might  be  the  case, — it  was  nevertheless 
intolerable  to  have  played  the  part  of  a  cad  in  her 
eyes. 

The  irritation  created  by  these  reflections  was 
promptly  visited  upon  Flynn  when  that  watchful 
guardian  of  the  gang  and  its  interests,  individual 
and  collective,  ventured  a  word  of  congratulation. 
The  old  man  had  observed  the  encounter  from 
afar,  in  no  little  anxiety  lest  Truxton  should 
spurn  the  fairly  earned  reward,  and  so  great  was 
28 


TJie  Widow  O '  Toole  s  Diplomacy     29 

his  relief  at  the  outcome  of  the  matter  that  he 
could  not  refrain  from  comment.  He  was  also 
profoundly  curious  to  learn  the  exact  figure  of  the 
bill  which  had  changed  hands. 

"  Faith  an'  a  hoonderd  wad  ha'  been  little 
enough  in  the  primises,"  he  remarked,  airing  a 
phrase  which  he  had  picked  up  out  of  the  papers, 
and  which  he  made  tentative  use  of,  from  time  to 
time,  with  a  view  to  fixing  its  significance. 

"  Confound  you,  Flynn,  what  a  donkey  you 
are  !  "  Truxton  growled.  "And  look  here  ;  why 
in  thunder  don't  you  attend  to  your  business, 
and  have  an  eye  out  for  the  money  people  fling 
about  on  the  floor  ?  You  passed  that  settee  a 
dozen  times  before  I  did  the  other  day,  and  you 
paid  no  more  attention  to  that  great  wad  of  bills 
than  if  it  had  been  an  old  boot-heel  !  " 

Flynn' s  countenance  assumed  the  look  of  philo- 
sophic tolerance  which  it  always  took  on  when 
he  was  found  fault  with. 

"  Aisy,  aisy,"  he  remonstrated,  in  a  soothing 
tone.  Then,  with  ill-suppressed  curiosity,  "  Was 
it  a  dirty  wan  she  was  afther  givin'  yez — the 
mane-spirited  crathur  ?  ' ' 

"  Look  here  !  If  you  don't  clear  out  of  this, 
you  '11  see  blue  blazes  !  "  cried  Truxton,  driven 
to  the  verge  of  exasperation  ;  and,  though  the 
threat  was  indefinite,  the  manner  of  it  was  so 
alarming  that  the  old  man  thought  it  well  to  re- 
tire from  the  field. 

A  few  minutes  later  Flynn,  having  recovered 


30  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

from  his  momentary  discomfiture,  was  giving 
Andy  Stone  an  eloquent  account  of  his  "  pro- 
tejay's  "  unprecedented  lapse  of  temper. 

"  He  was  that  mad  wid  me,  he  was,  that  the 
eyes  of  him  blazed  like  a  cat's  eyes  under  the 
bed;  an'  I  've  seen  it  done,  too!  "  he  added,  with 
a  pardonable  pride  in  this  new  evidence  of  the 
interest  and  variety  of  his  experience  of  life. 

When  he  passed  Truxton's  desk  again,  Flynn 
was  booted  and  spurred  for  an  important  errand, 
being  bound  on  a  foraging  expedition  after  sand- 
wiches, doughnuts,  and  the  like  delicacies  with 
which,  in  all  but  the  busiest  seasons,  the  gang 
could  surreptitiously  stay  the  pangs  of  hunger. 
Conscious  of  a  grievance,  he  held  himself  very 
erect,  and  did  not  deign  to  cast  a  glance  in  the 
direction  of  his  hot-headed  young  friend;  but 
Truxton,"  bent  on  reconciliation,  called  out  : 
"  Here,  Flynn  ;  if  you  're  going  out,  just  drop 
this  letter  in  the  box,  will  you  ?  And  I  say, 
Flynn," — for  the  old  man  had  taken  the  letter  in 
cold  silence — "  have  a  cigar  !  " 

That  was  an  advance  which  Flynn  could  not 
withstand.  He  hated  ' '  thim  onhatherly  little  to- 
bakker  sticks,"  and  he  would  not  have  exchanged 
his  good  clay  pipe  for  a  box  of  Havanas ;  but 
nothing  tickled  his  vanity  more  than  to  have  one 
proffered  in  just  that  offhand,  friendly  manner, 
and  Truxton  knew  it. 

A  glance  at  the  address  of  the  letter  convinced 
Flynn  that  Truxton  had  been  writing  to  the 


The  Widow  O '  Tooles  Diplomacy     3 1 

"  gyurl."  Not  that  lie  was  scholar  enough  to 
decipher  every  chance  superscription  at  a  glance. 
But  he  had  picked  up  the  name  of  the  girl,  and  it 
stood  to  reason  that  Ophelia  must  begin  with  an 
O,  one  of  the  few  letters  of  the  alphabet  which  no 
chirography  can  well  disguise.  He  had  no  deli- 
cacy about  imparting  his  information  to  such  of 
the  pilgrims  as  he  was  on  confidential  terms  with, 
so  that  it  was  pretty  well  understood,  before 
closing,  that  Truxton  had  sent  back  the  money 
which  he  had  surprised  them  all  by  accepting. 
A  fortunate  accident,  indeed,  since  it  did  not 
occur  to  Truxton  to  offer  any  information  on  the 
subject.  His  course  of  action  being  the  only  one 
open  to  him,  it  would  have  struck  him  as  quite 
unnecessary  to  state  that  he  had  taken  it. 

Had  it  not  been  for  Miss  Ruth  Ware,  the  really 
trifling  incident  would  have  been  promptly  and 
finally  dismissed  from  the  mind  of  the  chief  actor 
in  it.  As  it  was,  however,  Truxton,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  found  his  equanimity  at  the  mercy 
of  one  of  his  fellow-creatures.  To  his  mortifica- 
tion, he  was  obliged  to  admit  that  he  could  not 
contemplate  the  possibility  of  a  visit  to  the  bank 
from  that  inoffensive  young  woman,  without  ex- 
periencing a  distinctly  uncomfortable  sensation  ; 
and  when,  a  week  later,  he  was  unexpectedly 
brought  face  to  face  with  her  in  a  new  environ- 
ment, his  first  impulse  was  to  take  ignominious 
refuge  in  flight. 

Yet  the  two  young  people  could  hardly  have 


32  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

met  under  more  favorable  auspices  than  were 
accorded  them  by  a  friendly,  one  might  almost 
say  an  ingeniously  friendly,  fate. 

It  happened  that  they  were,  all  unawares,  the 
fortunate  possessors  of  a  common  friend,  and  it 
was  to  her  that  they  owed  what  may  be  termed 
their  social  introduction.  This  was  no  other  than 
the  Widow  O'Toole,  an  ex-laundress  of  the  Ware 
family,  an  acquaintance  whom  Ruth  valued 
highly,  and  whom  she  was  in  the  habit  of  calling 
upon  from  time  to  time  in  her  neat,  semi-suburban 
tenement. 

Now  this  neat  tenement  chanced  to  be  the 
property  of  Miss  Lucretia  Vickery,  the  aged  rela- 
tive with  whom  Frank  Truxton  made  his  home, 
a  lady  of  so  much  energy  and  independence  of 
character  that  it  had  cost  her  a  severe  struggle 
when,  some  six  months  since,  she  had  so  far 
yielded  to  the  infirmities  of  age  as  to  relinquish 
to  her  grand  nephew  the  collection  of  her  rents. 
Miss  Vickery  herself  lived  not  far  from  her  own 
tenants,  in  a  generous  old  square  house,  standing 
well  back  from  the  street,  a  house  which  still 
maintained  something  of  its  ancient  dignity, 
situated  though  it  was  in  a  discredited  neighbor- 
hood, and  looking  sadly  in  need  of  a  new  coat  of 
paint  and  other  details  of  its  pristine  toilet. 

But  although  Miss  Vickery  held  her  head  high, 
and  never  forgot  that  her  father  had  sat  in  the 
national  House  of  Representatives,  she  was  also 
not  without  reminders  that  her  present  income 


The  Widow  O '  Tooles  Diplomacy     33 

was  quite  insufficient  to  support  her  legitimate 
pretensions.  There  is  a  certain  dignity  in  the 
position  of  one  who  has  met  with  reverses.  The 
term  conveys  an  assurance  of  possessions  in  the 
past,  quite  different  from  that  implied  in  a  state- 
ment that  he  has  lost  his  money.  In  reverses 
there  is  no  mercantile  flavor,  no  suggestion  of 
lucre  lightly  acquired  and  lightly  lost ;  the  ple- 
beian image  of  money  itself  is  quite  excluded 
from  consideration.  And  we  may  be  very  sure 
that  Miss  Vickery  never,  in  her  inmost  thoughts, 
permitted  herself  to  remember  that  it  was  actual 
dollars  and  cents  that  had  been  subtracted  from 
her  income,  nor  that  the  inconveniences  of  the 
situation  had  been  due  to  such  sordid  causes  as  a 
drop  in  stocks  in  one  quarter,  or  depreciated  real 
estate  in  another  ;  far  less  then,  that  she  had  been 
all  but  robbed  by  the  family  black  sheep  of  a 
generation  or  two  ago,  a  man  whose  good  inten- 
tions could  not  save  him  from  an  incurable  and 
disastrous  tendency  to  speculate  unsuccessfully. 
She  had  met  with  reverses — a  misfortune  pe- 
culiarly incident  to  gentle-folk — that  was  all  ; 
and  the  two  dollars  a  week  which  she  received 
from  Margaret  O'Toole,  and  a  like  sum  derived 
at  present  with  unexampled  regularity  from  eleven 
other  tenants  of  the  Broad  Street  estate — this 
aggregate  sum,  minus  taxes,  water-rates,  and  re- 
pairs, constituted  her  entire  income.  To  which 
should  be  added  the  contribution  to  the  household 
expenses  which  her  nephew  made,  and  which  each 

3 


34  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

of  them  would  have  scorned  to  regard  in  the  light 
of  board-money. 

The  collection  of  weekly  rents  from  a  dozen 
more  or  less  irresponsible  tenants  was  no  light 
task,  and  Miss  Vickery  was  much  impressed  by 
the  ease  with  which  it  was  now  accomplished. 
She  had  heretofore  cherished  a  theory  that  the 
superiority  of  men  to  women  in  business  matters 
was  a  groundless  superstition  ;  but  when,  week 
after  week,  her  accounts  came  in,  and  she  ob- 
served a  cheering  absence  of  those  irregularities 
which  had  formerly  disfigured  them,  she  was 
constrained  to  bow  to  what  must,  after  all,  be  an 
innate  superiority  of  the  masculine  intellect.  She 
never  did  things  by  halves,  and  once  convinced 
that  her  nephew,  who  was  little  more  than  a 
stripling,  could  reduce  the  collection  of  rents  to 
clock-like  regularity,  she  was  prepared  to  put  the 
most  favorable  interpretation  upon  the  acts  of  her 
butcher  and  her  choreman,  both  of  whom  she  had 
hitherto  regarded  as  poor,  inconsequent  creatures, 
not  to  be  trusted  to  their  own  guidance  in  the 
smallest  particular. 

Truxton's  method  had  at  least  the  advantage 
of  simplicity.  It  consisted  in  advancing,  out  of 
his  own  purse,  such  small  sums  as  were  not  forth- 
coming on  the  proper  date,  and  he  congratulated 
himself  upon  having  hit  upon  so  ingenious  a  de- 
vice for  sparing  his  aunt  all  possible  annoyance. 
Once,  indeed,  he  had  been  perilously  near  ex- 
posure. 


The  Widow  O '  Tooles  Diplomacy     35 

It  happened  that  the  aforementioned  Widow 
O'Toole  had  been  inveigled  into  loaning  a  few 
dollars  to  -a  delinquent  neighbor,  and  had  failed 
to  collect  in  time  to  meet  her  own  obligations. 
For  three  successive  weeks  she  had  met  Truxton 
with  apologies  and  he,  knowing  her  usual  prompt- 
ness, and  disliking  to  press  the  good  woman,  had 
merely  told  her  to  take  her  time,  having  resort, 
on  his  own  part,  to  his  usual  method  of  squaring 
accounts. 

One  fine  morning,  however,  Mrs.  O'Toole' s 
neighbor  paid  up,  as,  indeed,  the  poor  have  a 
praiseworthy  way  of  doing  when  dealing  with 
their  own  kind,  and  the  self-respecting  O'Toole, 
having  never  before  been  backward  with  her 
rent,  found  herself  quite  unable  to  wait  for  pay- 
day to  come  round  again.  She  accordingly  arrayed 
herself  in  her  brilliant-hued  Paisley  shawl,  and 
her  green  kid  gloves — No.  8 — besides  other  choice 
features  of  a  careful  toilet,  and,  thus  equipped,  she 
hastened  to  her  landlady's  door,  armed  with  her 
six  dollars  which  she  was  prepared  to  proffer  with 
many  self-respecting  apologies.  The  interview 
was  a  lively  one,  and  Truxton  will  always  regret 
that  he  was  not  privileged  to  participate  in  it. 

Mrs.  O'Toole  found  Miss  Vickery  seated  in  her 
high-backed  chair  in  the  long  parlor,  clad  in 
her  black  Antwerp  silk,  a  neatly  darned  crimson 
camel's-hair  scarf  across  her  shoulders,  her  snow- 
white  hair  partly  hidden  by  a  lace  cap  modelled 
upon  one  inherited  from  her  mother.  The  ex- 


36  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

ceptional  elegance  of  her  toilet  was  due  to  the 
fact  that  this  was  her  reception  day. 

Ever  since  the  family  had  returned,  many  years 
ago,  from  their  sojourn  in  Washington,  where  the 
Squire's  legislative  honors  had  constrained  them 
to  reside,  the  Vickery s  had  been  ' '  at  home ' ' 
on  Wednesday.  One  by  one  the  inmates  of  the 
old  house  had  slipped  away  to  their  final  "  at 
home"  in  the  violet-strewn  or  snow-clad  ceme- 
tery, and  only  Miss  Lucretia  was  left  to  preserve 
the  family  tradition.  One  by  one  the  neighbors, 
who  had  been  used  to  observe  with  punctilious 
courtesy  this  declared  preference  on  the  part  of 
Squire  Vickery's  family,  had  removed  to  a  more 
fashionable  place  of  residence  inconveniently  re- 
mote for  social  intercourse.  Never  yet,  except- 
ing during  periods  of  mourning,  had  Miss  Vickery 
failed  to  don  her  state  gown  and  her  pearl  cross, 
to  have  the  furnace  heat  all  turned  into  the  long 
parlor,  and  to  establish  herself  in  patient  antici- 
pation of  the  guest  who  so  rarely  came.  By  her 
side  was  a  small  claw-footed  table  on  which 
rested  her  cut-glass  bottle  of  lavender-water,  her 
fan  of  marabou  feathers  and  her  photograph 
album  ;  also  a  copy  of  N.  P.  Willis's  Poems, 
which  she  was  fond  of  committing  to  memory. 
She  had  once  met  Willis  at  a  dinner  in  Washing- 
ton, and  his  personal  fascination  had  straightway 
gained  for  him  the  place  in  her  heart  of  favorite 
poet. 

Upon  this  tranquil  scene,  and  into  this  dignified 


The  Widow  O '  Toole  s  Diplomacy     3  7 

presence,  the  Widow  O' Toole  was  ushered  on  the 
memorable  Wednesday  afternoon  on  which  Miss 
Vickery's  newly  acquired  respect  for  masculine 
capacity  was  destined  to  be  so  narrowly  jeopard- 
ized. 

The  visitor  came  in  with  a  bobbing  courtesy  and 
a  beaming  face,  and  being  very  well  aware  that 
her  call  was  not  of  a  social  nature  she  hastened 
to  the  consideration  of  business. 

"  Good-marnin'  to  yez,  Miss  Vickery,"  she 
began,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  as 
became  her  lowly  station.  "It  's  mesilf  as  is 
ashamed  to  have  been  behind  wid  me  rint  owin' 
to  a  neighbor's  man's  father  havin'  fallen  off  the 
roof  of  a  shed  he  was  mendin'  an'  the  family 
bein'  called  to  lind  a  hand  wid  the  ould  man  whin 
the  coal  was  high  and  the  eldest  b'y  out  of  a  job 
an'  the  baby  requirin'  a  fortin  in  Millin's  Food. 
An'  millins  is  no  food  says  I  for  a  young  infant 
an'  its  not  millins  says  she  that  I  'm  afther  givin' 
the  child  the  way  they  grows  out  of  the  ground 
but  the  juice  of  'em  putt  in  a  bottle  I  'm  thinkin' 
wid  the  seeds  taken  out  an'  a  plaisin'  taste  o'  milk 
an'  pertaties  mixed  up  wid  it,  an " 

Here  Miss  Vickery  succeeded  in  stemming  the 
torrent,  a  feat  rendered  the  more  difficult  by  the 
entire"  absence  of  punctuation  in  the  widow's 
scheme  of  expression. 

"  But  what  is  this  you  are  saying  about  the 
rent,  Mrs.  O' Toole  ?  Surely  your  rent  has  been 
paid  up  to  date. ' ' 


38  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

' '  Paid,  is  it  ?  "  cried  the  visitor,  bridling  per- 
ceptibly at  this  reflection  upon  her  business  intel- 
ligence. "  Paid  !  An'  me  not  knowin'  it  ?  An' 
is  it  a  millionheiress  ye  're  takin'  me  for,  to  be 
payin'  me  rint  unbeknownst  ?  ' ' 

"  You  had  better  sit  down,  Mrs.  O'Toole,"  the 
old  lady  commanded,  conscious  of  an  authority 
that  was  not  to  be  gainsaid.  ' '  You  seem  to  be 
tired  and  confused.  Now  let  me  explain  to  you, ' ' 
she  added,  soothingly,  gratified  by  the  promptness 
with  which  her  visitor  collapsed  into  the  nearest 
chair.  "  Let  me  explain  why  I  am  so  sure  about 
it.  My  nephew  reports  to  me  each  week,  and  he 
rendered  his  account  on  Monday,  which  shows  all 
the  rents  in  the  Broad  Street  block  paid  up  to 
date." 

Miss  Vickery  had  a  habit  of  alluding  to  the 
"Broad  Street  block  "  in  implied  contradistinction 
to  other  pieces  of  property  of  an  apocryphal 
nature. 

To  this  assertion  Mrs.  O'Toole  listened,  open- 
mouthed. 

"  An'  the  Mike  Talligans  has  paid,  up  to 
date?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  An'  the  Widow  Dolan  ?  " 

"  All  the  rents  have  been  paid,"  the  landlady 
asserted,  with  dignity.  "  Since  my  nephew 
undertook  the  management  of  the  estate  I  have 
had  very  little  trouble  with  my  tenants.  He 
brings  to  the  task  an  executive  ability  and  a  busi- 


The  Widow  O '  Tooles  Diplomacy     39 

ness  capacity  which  women  are  unhappily  de- 
ficient in."  Then,  with  a  sudden  consciousness 
that  she  was  talking  over  her  visitor's  head,  the 
speaker  descended  to  a  less  abstract  region  of 
speculation.  "Perhaps,"  she  suggested,  "you 
intended  speaking  to  me  on  some  other  subject, 
and  coming  from  the  extreme  cold  outside,  into 
this  heated  room," — the  thermometer  in  the  long 
parlor  had  so  signally  failed  to  register  more  than 
sixty  degrees  in  severe  weather  that  it  had  long 
since  been  ejected  from  the  premises, — "  the  sud- 
den change  in  temperature  has  affected  your 
memory.  Do  you  not  recall  anything  that  you 
had  meant  to  speak  about  ?  ' ' 

Now  Margaret  O'Toole  was  no  fool,  as  she 
rarely  lost  an  opportunity  of  declaring,  and  her 
processes  of  reasoning,  though  not  profound, 
were  swift.  If  the  Talligans'  rent  was  paid,  if 
the  Widow  Dolan  was  not  behind,  and  she  out  of 
work  these  three  weeks,  then  it  was  ' '  that  honor- 
able young  gintleman  that  do  be  afther  makin'  it 
up  to  the  ould  lady."  This  deduction  was  as 
clear  to  her  as  print — clearer,  indeed,  since  she 
had  often  assured  Ruth  that  her  "  school- masther 
had  died  before  she  was  born. "  It  was  not  agree- 
able to  suffer  an  imputation  of  mental  derange- 
ment, but  neither  did  it  accord  with  her  sense  of 
propriety  to  betray  "  that  swate  young  gintleman, 
the  saints  save  him  !  "  She  hesitated  a  moment, 
and  the  mental  struggle  so  clouded  her  usually 
alert  countenance,  still  open-mouthed  from  the 


40  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

shock  of  surprise,  that  Miss  Vickery  was  con- 
firmed in  her  supposition. 

"  If  you  do  not  think  of  anything,"  the  old 
lady  said,  kindly,  ' '  you  had  better  step  into  the 
kitchen  and  let  Bridget  give  JTOU  a  cup  of  tea.  It 
will  warm  you  up  for  your  walk  home. ' ' 

That  settled  it.  A  ' '  sup  o'  tay  ' '  was  a  sover- 
eign balm  for  a  wounded  spirit,  and  Mrs.  O'Toole 
obediently  pulled  the  long,  red-tasselled  bell-rope 
suspended  from  a  small  walking-beam  arrange- 
ment under  the  ceiling,  and  meekly  consigned 
herself  to  the  guidance  of  Bridget,  who  appeared 
at  the  summons. 

Miss  Vickery  would  have  been  loath  to  admit, 
even  to  herself,  the  sense  of  .exhilaration  which 
this  travesty  of  a  call  left  in  its  wake.  So  few 
visitors  came  on  her  day,  that  even  the  Widow 
O'Toole  counted  for  something. 

Now  this  was  the  incident  with  which  Mrs. 
O'Toole  regaled  Ruth  Ware  the  next  time  that 
appreciative  visitor  came  to  see  her,  bringing,  as 
a  pretext,  some  embroideries  to  be  done  up. 

The  old  woman  was  sitting  in  her  big  wooden 
rocking-chair,  with  a  set  of  doilies,  of  sweet-pea 
design,  spread  over  her  neat  calico  person,  while 
the  pea-strewn  centrepiece  lay  across  Ruth's 
knees.  The  latter  was  listening  with  delighted 
interest  to  Margaret's  account  of  how  she  had 
connived  with  the  unconscious  nephew  in  de- 
ceiving the  old  lady  "  wid  the  red  scarf  around 
hersilf."  The  picture  was  sketchy,  but  effective. 


The  Widow  O '  Toole  s  Diplomacy     4 1 

"  Does  Mr.  Vickery  know  how  quick  you 
were  ?  ' '  Ruth  asked  ;  and  a  picture  of  a  benevo- 
lent elderly  capitalist  presented  itself  to  her 
imagination  as  candidate  for  the  name  she  had 
so  glibly  pronounced. 

' '  He  doos  that  !  It 's  himsilf  as  was  afther  sayin' 
that  me  talints  was  debloomatic  in  the  quality. ' ' 

"I  am  sure  I  think  you  behaved  beautifully, 
Margaret,  for  you  know  you  've  got  a  temper  of 
your  own,  and  it  was  certainly  very  provoking  at 
first." 

"  Tiniper,  is  it?  Did  ye  iver  see  annybody 
from  the  County  Tipperary  that  had  n't  a  timper  ? 
Your  honorable  mother  hersilf  it  was  that  says  to 
me,  says  she,  '  Margaret  O' Toole,  you  'd  better 
take  your  timper  and  trow  it  into  the  river,'  says 
she,  '  an'  it 's  the  best  thing  yez  can  do  wid  it !  '  ' 

The  crinkles  of  delighted  appreciation  were 
deepening  on  the  face  of  the  listener,  as  she  gave 
ear  to  this  grotesque  rendering  of  her  "  honorable 
mother's  "  admonitions,  when,  to  her  disappoint- 
ment, the  tale  was  cut  short.  A  step  resounded 
in  the  adjoining  room,  and,  looking  up  at  the 
intruder,  Mrs.  O' Toole  cried  :  "  It 's  himsilf  come 
for  the  rint,  an'  me  that  can't  move  for  the  flowers 
on  me  like  as  if  it  was  laid  out  for  a  wake  I  was  !  " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A   FORMAL  INTRODUCTION. 

MRS.    O'TOOLE,  who  was  slightly  deaf, 
had  not  heard  Truxton's  knock,  while 
Ruth  had  been  too  preoccupied  to  heed 
it.     Her  delighted  absorption  in  the  old  woman's 
narrative  was  only  equalled  by  the  orator's  satis- 
faction in  her  own  eloquence,  and  the  announce- 
ment   that   ' '  himsilf ' '    was  in    the  next  room 
seemed  to  the  visitor  most  inopportune. 

Truxton  had  entered  without  much  ceremony, 
knowing  by  past  experience  that  if  Mrs.  O'Toole 
was  not  prepared  to  receive  visitors  the  door 
would  be  locked  and  bolted.  Only  a  week  pre- 
vious, in  fact,  he  had  been  kept  fully  five  minutes 
waiting  for  admission,  a  circumstance  which,  as 
Mrs.  O'Toole  had  explained,  was  due  to  the  fact 
that  she  had  been  trying  a  new  way  of  doing  her 
hair  !  The  effort  had  evidently  been  prematurely 
interrupted,  for  she  had  finally  made  her  appear- 
ance in  a  very  tightly  twisted  pug,  protruding 
from  the  southwest  corner  of  her  cranium,  with  a 
42 


A  Formal  Introduction  43 

disregard  for  symmetry  which  betrayed  a  too 
hasty  treatment. 

On  the  present  occasion  Truxton  had  no  sooner 
effected  an  entrance  than  he  regretted  his  indis- 
cretion ;  for  he  not  only  became  aware  that  the 
mistress  of  the  establishment  was  entertaining  a 
visitor,  but  he  instantly  recognized  his  uncon- 
scious bugbear  of  the  past  fortnight.  This,  too, 
although  Ruth  was  sitting  with  her  back  toward 
the  door  of  the  front  room.  There  was  no  mis- 
taking that  shapely  head,  however,  nor  the  hint 
of  a  profile  furnished  by  the  vanishing  line  of  the 
cheek  and  the  tip  of  a  very  individual  nose. 

The  scene  was  a  pretty  one,  and  Truxton,  with 
his  habit  of  quick  observation,  took  it  in  at  a 
glance  ;  the  bright,  bare  kitchen  with  its  over- 
grown cooking-stove,  from  every  crevice  of  which 
a  fiery  red  eye  gleamed  ;  the  small  window 
through  which  the  sunshine  streamed  across  a 
pot  of  rose-geranium  ;  the  two  agreeably  contrast- 
ing figures,  leaning  toward  each  other  in  recipro- 
cal satisfaction.  Despite  the  sunshine  and  the 
gleaming  red  eyes  of  the  stove,  despite  the  youth- 
ful coloring  of  her  guest,  it  was  the  old  woman 
herself,  her  brilliant  cheeks  and  snapping  black 
eyes,  and  the  visible  glow  of  eloquence  on  her 
emphatically  speaking  countenance  which  fur- 
nished the  high-light  of  the  picture. 

Mrs.  O'Toole  had  evidently  made  some  recent 
progress  in  the  difficult  art  of  hair-dressing,  for 
her  animated  head  rejoiced  to-day  in  a  sort  of  ir- 


44  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

regular  pyramid  of  doubtful  composition,  casually 
interspersed  with  strands  of  her  own  jet-black 
hair ;  a  structure  which  created  in  the  observer 
an  anxious,  almost  painful  interest,  because  of  its 
manifest  insecurity.  The  effect  was  heightened 
by  a  scarlet  ribbon  bow-knot,  perched  like  a  but- 
terfly just  below  the  apex  of  the  pyramid,  and 
which  trembled  sympathetically  as  often  as  its 
foundation  tottered.  It  was  clear  that  the  widow 
had  been  making  the  most  of  the  leisure  secured 
to  her  by  the  monthly  stipend  of  her  son  John's 
providing  ;  and  an  ingrate  this  same  John  would 
have  been,  had  he  not  treated  his  mother  hand- 
somely, for,  as  she  never  hesitated  to  declare,  she 
had  had  "  siven  gyurls  and  wan  b'y,  an',  beggin' 
your  pardon,  I  set  more  store  by  the  wan  b'y  than 
by  all  the  gyurls  put  togither  !  " 

The  above,  to  be  sure,  is  a  digression,  but  a 
pardonable  one,  perhaps,  considering  the  seduc- 
tive nature  of  the  subject.  There  was,  about 
Margaret  O'Toole's  conversation,  her  conduct  of 
life,  her  very  personality,  a  certain  diffuseness,  a 
genial  inconsequence,  which  may  well  impart 
itself  to  the  methods  of  her  too  S57mpathetic  por- 
trayer.  That  lack  of  consecutiveness,  if  one  may 
be  allowed  the  expression,  was  well  illustrated  in 
the  sharp  contrast  afforded  between  the  pyramidal 
head-dress,  the  high  color  and  shining  eyes  of  the 
countenance  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  severely 
decorous  purple  calico  which  composed  the  sub- 
structure of  the  piece. 


A  formal  Introduction  45 

A  delicate  foil  to  this  highly  flavored  incon- 
gruity was  furnished  by  the  ' '  nate  figger  ' '  which 
Flynn  was  destined  to  observe  and  comment  upon 
a  few  days  later  ;  Miss  Ware,  on  this  occasion, 
being  clad  in  a  suit  of  dark-green  serge,  the 
harmonizing  character  of  which,  among  the  more 
brilliant  tones  of  the  picture,  was  pleasantly  sug- 
gestive of  the  innate  propriety  observed  by  Nature 
in  the  choice  of  her  predominant  color.  Both 
figures  acquired  a  touch  of  picturesqueness,  almost 
of  poetry,  through  the  lavish  array  of  sweet-peas 
with  which  they  were  strewn. 

In  short,  such  an  air  of  coziness  and  of  genial 
sociability  pervaded  the  scene  that  Truxton  would 
have  demurred  at  interrupting  it  even  if  there  had 
been  no  bugbear  to  consider.  As  it  was,  he  ex- 
claimed, in  a  tone  of  deprecation  bordering  on 
alarm  :  "  Please  don't  disturb  yourself,  Mrs. 
O'Toole  ;  I  shall  be  round  again  this  week,  and 
there  's  no  hurry  about  the  rent." 

"  Aisy,  aisy,  your  Honor,"  Mrs.  O'Toole  cried, 
gathering  up  the  doylies  which  seriously  embar- 
rassed her  movements  ;  "  it  's  only  Miss  Ruth  ! 
Miss  Ruth,  it  's  himsilf  !  " 

Ruth,  who  had  been  lending  a  hand  in  harvest- 
ing the  sweet-peas,  could  do  no  less  than  make 
her  acknowledgments  of  so  unmistakable  a  form 
of  introduction,  and,  rising,  she  found  herself  face 
to  face  with  Ophelia  Pye's  benefactor. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Truxton  !  "  she  exclaimed,  with 
undisguised  pleasure  ;  ' '  how  many  mutual  friends 


46  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

we  have  !  I  think  it 's  high  time  we  were  intro- 
duced !  " 

"It  's  very  good  of  you  to  say  so,"  said 
Truxton  ;  "  but  I  ought  not  to  have  come  blun- 
dering in  upon  you.  You  were  having  such  a 
pleasant  time  !  " 

' '  Take  the  gintleman  into  the  parlor  a  minute, 
darlin',"  Mrs.  O'Toole  was  saying,  "  whiles  I 
get  out  the  rint.  It  's  foine  an'  warm  in  there 
owin'  to  the  foire  in  the  stove  blazin'  up  on  me 
whin  I  was  doin'  up  me  hair  an'  me  not  mindin' 
to  turn  off  the  draughts  till  I  'd  ha'  been  ash- 
fixurated  like  ould  Jinny  Maloney  if  I  had  n't 
suspicioned  it  was  cooked  I  was  gettin'  an' 
throwed  open  the  door  on  mesilf— so  it  's  foine 
an'  warm  ye  '11  find  it,  though  it  's  divil  a  bit  av 
sun  do  the  room  get  whin  it 's  naded,  an'  it 's  only 
in  the  scorchin'  hot  weather  it  pakes  round  the 
corner  !  " 

With  this  purely  perfunctory  thrust  at  her  land- 
lady's representative,  the  old  woman  succeeded  in 
driving  her  two  guests  out  of  the  kitchen  and 
closing  the  door  upon  them  with  much  pushing 
of  bolts  and  rattling  of  keys. 

The  situation  was  very  absurd,  and  not  a  feature 
of  it  was  lost  upon  either  of  the  evicted  guests,  a 
fact  which  was  apparent  to  each  as  they  glanced 
at  each  other's  faces. 

"  Nobody  knows  how  long  you  will  have  to 
wait,"  Ruth  said,  with  a  shiver  of  amusement  in 
her  voice.  "  Margaret  keeps  her  money  buried 


A  Formal  Introduction  47 

forty  fathoms  deep  —  precisely  where,  I  have 
never  been  able  to  find  out. ' ' 

' '  I  always  allow  a  quarter  of  an  hour, ' '  Trux- 
ton  admitted  ;  ' '  though  I  once  knew  her  to  pro- 
duce a  two-dollar  bill  in  seven  minutes  and  a  half. 
Did  you  ever  observe  this  work  of  art,  Miss  Ware  ?" 
He  spoke  in  a  craftily  disengaged  tone,  as  if  the 
situation  were  the  most  natural  in  the  world. 

The  work  of  art  in  question  was  a  framed  pro- 
duction, half  chromo,  half  paper-doll,  represent- 
ing two  simpering  damsels,  clinging  devotedly  to 
one  another,  and  clad  in  actual  tissue-paper  skirts, 
the  crude  colors  of  which  were  somewhat  softened 
by  an  opportune  deposit  of  dust. 

"  It  's  a  lovely  thing,"  Ruth  agreed,  conscious 
of  an  unseemly  desire  to  prolong  the  interview, 
which  she  the  more  promptly  nipped  in  the  bud. 
"But  I  am  afraid  I  ought  to  be  going.  Margaret 
is  so  fascinating  that  I  always  find  myself  out- 
staying my  time." 

Now  Ruth  had  imagined  that,  if  she  should  ever 
have  an  opportunity  of  so  doing,  she  should  thank 
the  young  bank-clerk  for  his  delicate  considera- 
tion of  Ophelia  Pye's  feelings.  She  had  even 
wondered  if  it  would  not  do  to  stop  at  the  counter 
some  day  and  speak  about  it.  The  moment  she 
was  brought  into  personal  contact  with  him,  how- 
ever, she  perceived  that  such  a  procedure  was  out 
of  the  question  ;  that  her  intention  implied  an 
assumption  of  superiority  on  her  part,  as  if,  for- 
sooth, it  were  for  her  to  comment  upon  an  act  of 


48  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

simple  good-breeding.  When  it  came  to  the 
point,  she  would  as  soon  have  ventured  to  com- 
mend the  young  man  for  speaking  grammatically 
or  for  removing  his  hat  within  doors.  As  she 
buttoned  her  jacket  in  pursuance  of  her  intention 
to  depart  she  was  thinking  how  well  she  liked 
this  new  acquaintance,  and  what  a  pity  it  was  that 
she  might  not  stay  a  few  minutes  longer  and  have 
a  talk  with  him. 

Could  Truxton  have  been  aware  of  these 
ameliorating  considerations,  he  would  have  been 
almost  reconciled  to  her  apparent  eagerness  to 
get  away  from  him.  He,  too,  would  have  liked 
a  talk.  It  was  very  slow  music  standing  about 
in  this  anything  but  royal  antechamber,  and  it 
would  not  have  been  half  bad  to  re-examine  all 
its  art-treasures  in  company  with  a  girl  who  had 
so  evident  a  relish  for  the  inherent  drollery  of  the 
O'Toole  manifestation.  What  his  thoughts  were 
on  the  subject,  however,  or  whether  he  had  really 
detached  his  mind  from  the  stud)^  of  the  pictorial 
paper-dolls,  it  was  quite  impossible  to  infer  from 
the  somewhat  perfunctory  tone  in  which  he  said  : 
"  I  only  hope  I  am  not  driving  you  away." 

Ruth,  meanwhile,  had  made  a  discovery. 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  drive  myself  away,"  she 
declared,  in  a  tone  of  not  too  poignant  regret, 
"  if  I  can't  make  Margaret  give  me  my  fur  cape. 
Margaret,"  she  called,  rapping  sharply  on  the 
door,  "  Margaret,  I  've  got  to  go  home.  Won't 
you  please  hand  me  my  fur  cape  ?  " 


A  Formal  Introduction  49 

"  Ach,  be  aisy,  darlin' !  "  came  the  voice  of  the 
O'Toole,  unnaturally  muffled — could  it  be  by  the 
drawing  of  some  garment  over  her  head  ?  "It's 
not  a  minute  I  '11  be  afther  kapin'  yez." 

"  But,  Margaret,  I  've  really  got  to  go.  Please 
hand  me  my  cape  through  the  crack  of  the  door. ' ' 

"  An'  would  it  be  openin'  the  door  ye  'd  have 
me,  an'  me  wid  me  hair  fallin'  over  me  ears  ? 
It  's  himsilf  as  ud  not  know  which  way  to  look 
at  all.  Be  aisy,  darlin'.  It  's  comin'  I  am  in 
the  turn  o'  your  hand  !  ' ' 

"  Well,  hurry  up,"  said  Ruth  ;  "  and  never 
mind  your  hair.  Throw  a  shawl  over  your  head 
and  come  along.  There  's  really  no  special 
hurry,"  she  added,  turning  once  more  to  her 
companion  in  durance.  "  I  only  thought,  if  she 
began  on  that  hair,  it  might  detain  us  some  hours, 
and  I  suppose  we  shall  both  be  ready  for  our 
dinner  sooner  or  later." 

"  /  might  go,"  Truxton  suggested  in  a  half- 
hearted manner  ;  "  I  did  n't  wear  my  fur  cape  to- 
day !" 

"  Oh,  please  don't,"  Ruth  cried.  "  I  don't 
want  to  be  left  alone  with  those  sentimental  ladies 
in  tissue-paper.  It  would  be  '  wurss  again,'  as 
Margaret  would  say." 

""Good  enough  !  "  Truxton  assented,  with  a 
sudden,  absurd  elation.  "  And  why  should  we 
not  pursue  the  study  of  art  together  ?  ' ' 

Now  it  is  a  very  curious  fact,  and  one  which 
their  biographer  thinks  worthy  of  mention,  that 


50  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

this  quite  unexceptionable  invitation  to  aesthetic 
delights  struck  both  these  young  people  as  being 
surprisingly  audacious  and — agreeable.  There 
are  moments,  as  we  all  know,  when  the  most  com- 
monplace word,  the  most  trivial  action,  becomes 
significant  ;  and  this  does  not  necessarily  occur 
at  any  given  crisis,  unless,  indeed,  the  fact  of  its 
occurrence  constitutes  in  itself  a  crisis. 

' '  I  suppose, ' '  Truxton  remarked,  as  he  directed 
his  attention  to  a  portrait  of  General  Grant  in  full 
regimentals, — "I  suppose  we  may  consider  that 
we  now  have  the  clue  to  the  old  lady's  safety- 
deposit  methods. ' ' 

"  I  suppose  we  may,"  laughed  Ruth.  "  In 
fact  I  have  long  had  my  suspicions.  Have  you 
never  encountered  an  under-pocket  among  your 
depositors?" 

"  I  blush  to  say  I  have,"  he  admitted.  "  It 
seems  to  me  one  of  the  most  striking  develop- 
ments of  modern  finance.  It  's  curious,"  he 
added,  transferring  his  attention  to  a  plaster  image 
richly  arrayed  in  silk  and  spangles, — "  it  is  curi- 
ous, but  there  is  always  something  sweet  about 
the  Madonna,  no  matter  how  they  rig  her  out. ' ' 

"  Yes  ;  the  sentiment  never  gets  lost  as  it  does 
with  the  poor  saints.  I  suppose  it  is  because  it 
is  something  that  everybody  can  understand. 
But,"  with  a  change  of  tone,  "  I  '11  thank  you  to 
speak  more  respectfully  of  this  particular  finery. 
That  is  a  bit  of  one  of  my  ball-dresses,  I  would 
have  you  to  know." 


A  Formal  Introduction  51 

It  was  a  piece  of  pale-green  silk,  and  it 
seemed  to  Truxton  that  it  must  have  been  be- 
coming. 

' '  Do  you  go  in  for  that  sort  of  thing  ?  "  he 
asked,  trying  to  imagine  her  enacting  the  part  of 
butterfly.  Not  very  difficult  either,  on  second 
thoughts.  She  was  evidently  not  a  girl  of  one 
idea. 

"  Not  now,"  Ruth  replied,  serenely;  "  my  day 
is  past." 

' '  Did  you  get  tired  of  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  did  n't  have  time  ;  it  got  tired  of 
me." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  Truxton  declared  stoutly. 

"  You  would  if  you  were "  she  hesitated, 

but  not  before  he  had  caught  her  meaning. 

"  I  doubt  it,"  he  replied,  good-naturedly. 
"  At  any  rate,  if  I  were,  I  should  try  to  make 
you  change  your  mind." 

"  I  only  mean,"  said  Ruth,  thankful  to  him  for 
helping  her  out  of  her  difficulty, — "  I  only  mean 
that  we  older  girls  don't  get  invited  to  balls,  and 
so  we  naturally  don't  go." 

' '  What  a  pity  !  Just  as  you  are  getting  to  be 
nicer  than  ever  !  I  don't  mean  to  be  personal," 
he  hastened  to  add. 

"-You  don't?  I  flattered  myself  that  you 
did  !  "  and  it  suddenly  struck  Ruth  that  this  was 
not  her  usual  manner  of  talking  to  a  stranger. 

"  Self-flattery  is  always  a  mistake,"  Truxton 
remarked,  with  mock  sententiousness.  "  Flynn 


52  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

says — by  the  way,  perhaps  you  don't  know  Flynn. 
He  is  the  old  ex-janitor  at  the  bank." 

"  The  one  that  dresses  so  genteelly,  and  takes 
such  beautiful  care  of  us  on  quarter-day  ?  What 
has  he  got  to  say  ?  ' ' 

' '  What  has  he  not  got  to  say,  would  be  an  easier 
question  to  answer.  But  perhaps  my  testimony 
ought  to  be  ruled  out,  for  Flynn  vows  that  '  what- 
iver  thim  fellers  say  I  said,  I  say  I  did  n't  say  it ! '  " 

Whereupon  Truxton  found  himself  imparting 
to  this  most  responsive  of  listeners  one  choice  bit 
after  another  of  Flynn' s  providing,  while  Ruth 
was  beguiled  into  capping  his  stories  with  equally 
characteristic  experiences  of  her  own.  And  the 
outcome  of  it  all  was  that  this  conversation,  which 
did  not  again  touch  upon  any  personal  theme, 
gave  them  an  even  clearer  and  more  interesting 
impression  of  one  another  than  of  the  ludicrous 
or  pathetic  specimens  of  humanity  that  formed 
their  ostensible  subject. 

Ruth,  for  example,  concluded  that  to  be  a  bank- 
clerk — if  only  one  possessed  the  creative  touch — 
was  to  be  something  of  a  poet  and  very  much  of 
a  dramatist.  She  found  herself  inclined  to  wonder 
that  neither  of  her  elder  brothers,  had  embraced 
this  remarkably  fruitful  calling,  especially  since 
her  father  happened  to  be  a  director  of  the  bank 
in  question.  And  then,  even  while  she  was  laugh- 
ing over  Truxton' s  account  of  the  Italian  fruit- 
vendor  whom  the  pilgrims  could  get  rid  of  only 
by  telling  him  that  they  had  no  money — thereby 


A  Formal  Introduction  53 

eliciting  the  excellent  business  axiom,  "  No 
money  no  banan's," — even  at  that  moment  the 
thought  crossed  her  mind  that  the  pecuniary  in- 
ducements of  the  situation  might  leave  something 
to  be  desired.  And  then  she  recalled  to  mind  the 
tale  Margaret  had  told  her  of  the  old  aunt  "  wid 
the  red  scarf  round  hersilf,"  and  of  the  rents 
which  she  was  never  allowed  to  miss.  So  strong 
was  the  appreciative  throb  with  which  her  imagi- 
nation responded  to  these  suggestions,  that  she 
hastened  to  make  minute  inquiries  tending  to 
identify  the  astute  fruit-vendor  with  an  acquaint- 
ance of  her  own  in  the  same  line  of  trade. 

As  for  Truxton,  he  arrived  at  the  conclusion, 
during  those  incalculable  intervals  which  honey- 
comb the  most  animated  conversation,  that  a 
pauper's  lot  was  a  very  enviable  lot  indeed,  some 
slight  inconveniences  and  restrictions  notwith- 
standing, if  only  it  brought  him  in  the  way  of 
ministrations  from  a  certain  quarter.  It  must 
furthermore  be  confessed  that  the  sound  of  Mar- 
garet's voice  at  the  door,  heralding  their  release, 
was  not  the  relief  to  either  of  these  prisoners  that 
it  should  properly  have  been. 

"  Are  ye  there,  darlin'  ?  "  came  the  inquiry, 
while  yet  the  door  was  hermetically  sealed. 

"-Yes,  Margaret  ;  are  n't  you  nearly  ready  to 
let  us  in  ?  " 

"  An'  is  himsilf  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  O'Toole  ;  take  your  time,  there  's 
no  hurry  !  " — which  daring  assertion  on  the  part 


54  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

of  "  himsilf "  was  not  visited  with  the  reproof 
which  it  merited. 

There  was  a  drawing  of  bolts  and  turning  of 
keys,  and  Mrs.  O'Toole  appeared,  wreathed  in 
smiles,  her  hair  dressed  up  to  her  latest  model, 
and  the  red  bow  fluttering  as  nonchalantly  on  top 
as  if  it  had  never  relinquished  its  perch. 

"  An'  it  's  mesilf  was  afther  tell  in'  yez  I  'd  be 
there  in  the  turn  o'  me  hand,  an'  it  's  as  good  as 
me  wurrd  I  was.  An'  must  ye  be  goin',  darlin'  ?  " 
for  Ruth  had  hastily  possessed  herself  of  her 
cape  and  was  waiting  her  chance  to  take  leave. 
"  It 's  sorry  I  am  to  lose  the  swate  eyes  of  yez  till 
ye  come  again,  the  saints  save  ye  !  " 

Amid  this  and  still  further  vociferous  farewells, 
Ruth  made  good  her  escape,  and,  as  she  walked 
rapidly  away  she  said  to  herself,  with  an  apprecia- 
tive accent  not  lost  upon  her  only  listener,  ' '  So 
that  is  himsilf !  " 

A  few  minutes  later  Truxton,  having  possessed 
himself  of  the  two  dollars,  and  of  a  voluble,  if 
somewhat  superfluous,  encomium  upon  his  late 
companion,  took  his  departure.  As  he  walked 
homeward,  facing  the  first  delicate  flush  of  the 
western  sky,  he  found  himself  making  mental 
note  of  the  old  woman's  most  striking  remarks. 
And  since  he  was  a  natural  mimic  it  is  perhaps 
not  to  be  wondered  at  that  he  even  went  so  far  as 
to  repeat,  sotto  voce,  that  unctuous  formula  of  fare- 
well: "  It 's  sorry  I  am  to  lose  the  swate  eyes  of 
ye,  the  saints  save  ye  !  " 


CHAPTER  V. 

AN  UNAMBITIOUS   HERO. 

WHETHER  it  was  owing  to  a  too  imme- 
diate transition  from  the  aesthetic  de- 
lights afforded  by  the  O'Toole  art- 
collection,  or  to  some  still  more  obscure  cause, 
the  fact  is  worth  noting  that  Frank  Truxton  was 
conscious  of  a  marked  change  in  the  aspect  of 
things  when,  the  following  morning,  he  entered 
the  sober  confines  of  the  good  old  Pilgrim.  The 
day  was  dull  and  lowering,  and  the  gloom  of  the 
high-vaulted,  severely  furnished  interior  was 
rather  accentuated  than  otherwise  by  the  occa- 
sional electric  light  which  illumined  this  or  that 
dim  recess. 

It  was  close  upon  nine  o'clock  and  most  of  the 
clerks  were  already  on  hand.  Old  Simon  Barry, 
indeed,  looked  as  if  he  had  been  at  work  all  night. 
He  always  had  that  look,  Truxton  reflected,  with 
a  twinge  of  impatience.  He  wondered  why  a  man 
who  invariably  wore  a  black  coat,  a  little  shiny 
at  the  seams,  to  be  sure,  but  a  very  presentable 
55 


56  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

coat  as  business  coats  go, — why  the  old  fellow 
should  make  such  a  cobwebby,  moth-eaten  ap- 
pearance. Was  that  the  inevitable  result  of  forty- 
odd  years  spent  in  the  service  of  the  Pilgrim 
Savings  Bank  ?  He  wondered  whether  he  should 
look  like  that  forty  years  hence  ;  and  he  regis- 
tered a  vow  then  and  there  that  he  would  "  get 
out  of  this  "  one  of  these  days.  What  a  deadly- 
dull  life  it  was,  and  why  on  earth  had  he  sub- 
mitted to  it  for  two  mortal  years  ? 

As  he  took  his  place  at  his  desk  Flynn  was  just 
placing  a  huge,  hide-bound  ledger  upon  it,  and 
Truxton's  thoughts  were  diverted  for  a  moment, 
though  hardly  into  a  more  cheerful  channel,  by 
the  recollection  that  his  old  friend  was  in  afflic- 
tion, and  that  condolences  were  in  order. 

"Well,  Flynn,"  he  remarked,  in  a  properly 
sympathetic  tone  ;  "  I  hope  you  got  there  in  time 
to  see  your  brother  alive. ' ' 

"  Yes,  sorr,"  Flynn  replied,  with  startling 
briskness  ;  "  he  was  just  haivin'  his  last  puff !  " 

Even  Truxton,  with  his  lively  appreciation 
of  the  old  man's  eccentricities,  was  somewhat 
taken  aback  at  this  blood-curdling  statement. 
He  knew  better,  however,  than  to  imagine 
that  he  was  thereby  absolved  from  the  expres- 
sion of  an  exactly  proper  degree  of  sympathy, 
and  he  remarked,  as  he  opened  the  ledger  : 
' '  Sorry  you  should  have  met  with  such  a  loss, 
Flynn  !  " 

"  Ach,"    Flynn   replied,   with   an   expressive 


An  Unambitious  Hero  57 

shrug,  "what  's  the  use  in  layminting  ?  No 
use  whativer,  I  say  ;  no  use  whativer  ! ' ' 

"  That  's  all  very  well,"  Truxton  persisted, 
consumed  with  curiosity  as  to  whether  or  not  the 
old  man  was  sfeamming.  "  But  you  '11  miss  him, 
nevertheless. ' ' 

' '  Miss  him  ?  Now  what  for  should  I  miss 
him?  " 

"  Well,"  Truxton  replied,  casting  about  for 
some  means  of  self-justification,  "  I  should  think 
you  might  miss  seeing  him  round." 

"  An'  have  n't  I  been  seein'  him  round  for  the 
last  siventy  years — for  the  last  siventy  years,  I  tell 
ye?"  with  which  illogical  but  conclusive  dis- 
claimer, this  Spartan  mourner  turned  the  subject 
and  began  commenting  upon  the  reprehensible 
dilatoriness  of  young  Beardsley,  the  latest  addition 
to  the  gang,  who  was  just  entering  the  door, 
three  minutes  and  a  quarter  late. 

"  You  don't  seem  to  like  Mr.  Beardsley," 
Truxton  observed.  "  Now  we  think  he  's  a 
pretty  good  fellow." 

Flynn  gave  the  inarticulate  and  quite  unspell- 
able  guttural  by  means  of  which  he  possessed  the 
art  of  expressing — quite  intelligibly,  too — any- 
thing in  the  whole  range  of  human  emotions  ;  and 
then,  allowing  himself  to  descend  to  words,  he 
muttered  :  "  Pleasant,  aisy-goin',  good-for-noth- 
ing !  "  Upon  which  he  departed,  with  renewed 
zest,  in  quest  of  the  ledger  appertaining  to  the 
delinquent. 


58  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

"  Pleasant,  —  aisy-goin',  —  good-for-nothing," 
Truxton  repeated  to  himself.  "  That  cap  fits 
somebody  besides  Beardsley  !  "  And  thereupon 
this  usually  tolerant  young  man,  tolerant  of 
others,  tolerant  of  his  situation  in  life,  fairly 
tolerant  even  of  himself  when  he  gave  the  subject 
a  thought,  fell  to  abusing  himself,  his  surround- 
ings, and  his  fellow-toilers,  with  an  animus  little 
short  of  vindictive. 

"  What  a  lot  of  everlasting  drudges  we  are," 
he  said  to  himself,  ' '  to  hang  on  here,  doing  the 
same  thing  over  and  over  again,  for  a  few  beg- 
garly hundreds  a  year !  I  wonder  we  can  any  of 
us  look  the  world  in  the  face  !  "  And  as  if 
straightway  to  remind  him  what  very  limited 
significance  the  most  aspiring  philosopher  is 
prone  to  give  to  the  term  he  had  just  used,  a  cert- 
ain pleasant  and  expressive  countenance,  not  to 
be  more  precisely  designated,  appeared  before  his 
mental  vision,  quietly  assuming  the  ambitious 
role  which  had  been  so  arbitrarily  thrust  upon  it. 

Now  it  was  all  very  well  for  a  young  man,  with 
ideas  somewhat  unsettled  by  a  too  sudden  initia- 
tion into  the  mysteries  of  art,  to  condemn  himself 
for  earning  his  bread  in  this  quite  unobjectionable 
manner,  but  there  was  really  no  occasion  for  his 
strictures  upon  other  people.  A  pretty  state  of 
affairs  it  would  be,  if  such  high-flown  notions  were 
to  prevail,  and  if  all  honest  men  were  to  scorn  to 
concern  themselves  with  the  universal  medium  of 
exchange  and  barter,  by  means  of  which  the 


An  Unambitious  Hero  59 

wheels  go  round,  the  wheels  of  art  and  science 
and  philosophy,  no  less  than  the  smaller,  but  far 
more  intricate  ones  of  household  and  physical 
economy.  And,  indeed,  what  right  had  Frank 
Truxton  to  condemn  himself  for  being  in  a  situa- 
tion which  was  the  direct  result  of  a  generous  and 
commendable  course  of  action  ? 

Not  that  Flynn's  "  protejay  "  could  make  any 
pretensions  to  being  a  hero — which,  considering 
that  he  was  never  known  to  make  any  pretensions 
whatever,  is  not  particularly  to  the  point.  His 
life  had  been  too  free  of  conflict  to  call  for  the  ex- 
ercise of  any  quality  so  aggressive  as  heroism — 
using  the  word  in  its  conventional  signification. 
The  several  crises  of  his  modest  career  had  been 
robbed  of  their  disturbing  character  by  the  single- 
minded  acquiescence  with  which  they  had  been 
met. 

When,  at  the  end  of  his  second  college  year, 
his  father,  Dr.  Truxton,  had  met  his  death  at  the 
heels  of  a  vicious  horse,  the  boy's  chief  concern 
was  for  his  mother,  who,  as  he  rightly  surmised, 
had  got  her  death-blow  as  certainly,  if  not  as 
promptly,  as  if  it,  too,  had  been  visited  upon  the 
actual  physical  seat  of  her  vitality.  He  was  an 
only  child,  and  he  had  lost  in  his  father  a  friend 
and  comrade  who  had  contributed  even  more  to 
his  happiness  than  his  mother  had  ever  done. 
Yet  his  own  sorrow  seemed  to  him  something  to 
be  suppressed,  to  be  roughly  handled  if  need  be, 
to  be  got  out  of  the  way  at  any  cost,  that  he  might 


60  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

have  a  mind  free  for  the  consideration  of  his 
mother's  needs. 

Mrs.  Truxton  was  a  woman  of  fragile  constitu- 
tion, and  of  late  years  the  poise  had  become  so 
delicate  that  a  far  less  severe  shock  than  the  one 
she  had  sustained  would  have  sufficed  to  turn  the 
balance  to  fatal  issues.  Her  son  learned,  on  high 
authority,  that  the  years  of  her  life  were  num- 
bered. He  also  learned,  as  a  result  of  his  own 
investigations,  that,  with  the  cessation  of  his 
father's  professional  income,  the  family  resources 
were  ve^  seriously  reduced.  In  fact,  when  the 
estate  was  settled,  it  transpired  that  a  pitifully 
small  number  of  thousands  represented  their  en- 
tire fortune.  There  had  been  no  will,  and  the 
boy  found,  to  his  indignation,  that  he  was,  in 
the  eyes  of  the  law,  entitled  to  two  thirds  of  the 
property.  He  was  just  turned  of  age,  and  he 
readily  persuaded  his  mother  to  leave  to  him  all 
consideration  of  business. 

Having  thus  satisfactorily  got  matters  into  his 
own  hands,  he  was  confronted  with  a  problem 
which  might  have  proved  a  perplexing  one  to 
many  a  filially-minded  son  in  his  place.  Should 
he  pursue  his  education  and  secure  his  equipment 
for  a  professional  life,  exposing  his  mother,  mean- 
while, to  the  inconveniences  and  deprivations  of 
an  insufficient  income,  or,  since  her  life  was  to  be 
a  short  one,  should  he  give  up  college,  bring  their 
capital  into  play,  and  make  the  scant  remainder 
of  her  days  as  tolerable  as  might  be  ?  This,  as 


An  Unambitious  Hero  61 

has  been  said,  might  have  proved  a  perplexing 
problem  to  many  a  right-minded  but  ambitious 
boy.  To  Frank  Truxton,  glad  as  he  would  have 
been  to  graduate  with  his  class,  nothing  in  the 
shape  of  a  problem  presented  itself.  The  law  was 
an  idiot,  but  the  money  was  his  mother's,  at  least 
in  simple  human  equity.  As  for  himself,  he  was 
inclined  to  think  that  an  able-bodied  man  would 
be  able  to  earn  a  living  when  the  time  came,  even 
though  he  were  not  so  much  luckier  than  nine 
tenths  of  his  fellow-men  as  to  have  an  education. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Truxton  was  ordered  to  travel, 
and,  for  her  son's  sake,  she  entered  upon  a  patient 
quest  in  search  of  that  undiscovered  climate  which 
has  power  to  heal  a  broken  life.  She  found  it,  at 
the  end  of  four  years'  travel,  and  her  son  had  the 
comfort  of  knowing  that  the  way  had  not  been 
too  hard,  nor  the  years  quite  cheerless.  She  died 
in  Rome,  and  was  buried  there  in  the  lovely  Pro- 
testant Cemetery. 

To-day,  as  the  young  man  stepped  from  desk  to 
counter,  from  counter  to  desk,  in  the  performance 
of  the  task  for  which  he  had  conceived  such  a  sud- 
den and  unreasonable  distaste,  his  mind  reverted 
to  the  hour  when  he  had  first  made  an  important 
decision  untrammelled  by  any  dominant  sense  of 
duty.  It  was  about  three  weeks  after  his  mother's 
death,  and  he  was  on  the  eve  of  departure  for 
home.  He  was  going  back  to  earn  his  living 
as  best  he  could,  for  he  was  quite  clear  that  he 
was  not  the  kind  of  fellow  to  re-enter  college  at 


62  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

twenty-five  and  grind  out  a  living  in  the  inter- 
vals of  study.  It  was  a  magnificent  thing  to  do, 
but  there  was  nothing  magnificent  about  him, 
Frank  Truxton. 

He  had  gone  for  a  farewell  visit  to  the  quiet 
spot  where  his  mother  slept,  and,  having  stood 
for  a  while  beside  the  newly  sodded  mound,  he 
had  wandered  off  under  the  cypresses,  stooping 
now  and  then  to  pick  the  violets  that  perfumed  the 
March  sunshine.  It  was  very  sweet  and  pensive, 
and  the  tall  cypresses  waved  their  plumes  with  a 
tender,  soothing,  rhythmic  grace.  The  young 
man  strolled  up  the  incline  that  rose  gently  to  the 
level  of  the  old  city  wall,  and  presently  he  seated 
himself  upon  a  low  stone  coping,  and  fell  to 
thinking  tender  thoughts  of  death,  which  seemed 
so  gentle  and  friendly  here,  in  its  own  quiet  pre- 
cincts. He  remembered  a  letter  he  had  received 
that  morning,  a  letter  written  in  the  small,  careful 
hand  of  many  years  ago.  He  reflected  that  the 
aged  woman  who  had  written  that  letter  was  now 
his  next  of  kin,  and  the  thought  warmed  his 
heart.  It  had  been  a  real  consolation  to  him  to 
send  a  cable  message  to  Aunt  Lucretia,  and  to  feel 
sure  that  she,  at  least,  of  all  the  world,  would 
share  his  sorrow.  He  drew  the  letter  from  his 
pocket  and  read  it  there  in  the  shadow  of  the 
cypresses,  and  a  fragrance  of  the  past,  of  a  past 
more  remote  than  his  memory  could  reach,  seemed 
to  mingle  delicately  with  the  perfume  of  the 
violets. 


An  Unambitious  Hero  63 

Truxton  had  only  seen  Great-aunt  Lucretia  two 
or  three  times  in  his  life,  but  his  visits  to  her, 
perhaps  from  their  very  rarity,  had  made  an  in- 
delible impression  upon  his  childish  mind.  He 
had  never  forgotten  the  old  house,  its  decorous 
quiet,  its  generous  capacity,  peopled  chiefly  now 
with  family  portraits.  He  remembered  a  certain 
old  apple-tree,  among  whose  rotten  branches  he 
used  to  risk  his  neck,  and  the  clothes-posts  which 
he  was  allowed  to  shoot  at  with  a  deceased  uncle's 
Indian  bow  and  arrows.  He  wondered  whether 
the  holes  he  had  made  had  ever  been  filled  up  and 
painted  over  ;  he  was  sure  he  could  have  placed 
each  one.  Best  of  all  did  he  remember  the  tall 
old  woman  clad  in  a  rustling  silk  dress,  in  the 
pocket  of  which  were  stored  certain  small,  round, 
transparent  candy-drops,  calculated  to  make  a 
boy  forget  the  misleading  severity  of  Aunt  IyU- 
cretia's  countenance. 

Yes,  it  would  be  very  pleasant  to  go  there  for  a 
little  visit,  but  not  to  make  it  his  home,  as  the 
old  lady  had  proposed.  The  hints  she  had 
dropped  of  an  old  family  friend  who  might  find 
him  something  to  do  were  not  very  inspiring. 
But  go  he  would,  and  find  out  whether  she  had 
kept  the  Indian  bow  and  arrows  as  she  had  pro- 
mised to  do  until  he  should  come  again. 

He  glanced  up  from  the  letter,  and  his  eye  fell 
upon  the  name  of  a  well-known  English  writer 
inscribed  upon  a  headstone  near  at  hand.  Be- 
neath the  name  was  a  verse  which  he  read  absently. 


64  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

still  thinking  of  the  old  great-aunt  and  her  curious 
cap. 

"  Lead  Thou  me,  God,  Law,  Reason,  Motion,  Life  ; 

All  names  for  Thee  alike  are  vain  and  hollow  ; 
Lead  me,  for  I  will  follow  without  strife, 
Or,  if  I  strive,  still  must  I  blindly  follow." 

The  young  man  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  sudden 
impatience,  and  made  his  way  down  the  grassy 
slope  and  out  upon  the  smooth-paved  streets  of 
modern  Rome  ;  and  before  he  had  got  back  to  his 
lodgings  he  had  become  aware  that  those  uncom- 
promising lines  had  engraved  themselves  upon 
his  memory.  Was  it  possible  that  they  had 
coerced  his  will  as  well  ? 

"  Or,  if  I  strive,  still  must  I  blindly  follow." 

Had  he  been  such  a  muff,  he  asked  himself  to- 
day, looking  back  over  the  two  years  to  that 
decision  which  seemed  now  so  remote,  so  irrevo- 
cable,— had  he  been  such  a  muff  as  to 'let  his  ca- 
reer be  determined  by  an  accident  ?  He  had  come 
home  to  Aunt  L,ucretia  and  taken  up  his  abode 
with  her  ;  he  had  accepted  the  place  offered  him 
in  the  Pilgrim  Savings  Bank,  where  he  had  re- 
mained contentedly  enough  for  two  years  ;  and 
in  taking  these  successive  steps  he  was  perfectly 
aware  that  there  had  been  no  decisive  moment ; 
that,  literally,  he  had  ' '  blindly  followed. ' ' 


An  Unambitious  Hero  65 

He  had  stayed  with  Aunt  L,ucretia  because  the 
unconscious  appeal  of  her  lonely  old  age  made  it 
seem  natural  for  her  next  of  kin  to  stand  by  her  ; 
he  had  gone  into  the  great  savings-bank  because 
it  was  the  obvious  thing  to  do  ;  and  he  had  been 
content  in  both  relations  because  he  was  too  de- 
void of  egotism  for  much  personal  ambition.  In 
fact  there  was  scarcely  a  situation  in  life,  of  a 
fairly  tenable  character,  in  which  Frank  Truxton, 
if  left  to  his  own  devices,  would  not  have  fitted 
naturally  and  happily  ;  and  if,  to-day,  his  limita- 
tions irked  him,  it  was  because  he  had  reached 
that  point  in  his  experience  when  a  subtle  outside 
influence  had  touched  his  life  and  disturbed  the 
simplicity  of  its  tenor. 

There  was  a  gentle  altercation  going  on  be- 
tween the  testy  Rathbone  and  a  coy  and  shrinking 
depositor  of  uncertain  years,  who,  in  face  of  her 
own  acknowledged  signature,  made  some  six 
months  previous,  was  feebly  endeavoring  to 
maintain  the  proposition  that  she  could  not  write. 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Brady,"  Rathbone  demanded  at 
last  in  a  searching  tone,  calculated  to  wrest  his 
secret  from  the  arch  conspirator, — "  do  you  write, 
or  do  you  not  write  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,"  Mrs.  Brady  confessed,  with  much 
wriggling  of  the  shoulders  and  tilting  of  the  head 
at  a  deprecatory  angle, — "  I  suppose  I  do — 
kind  o'  /  " 

And  Rathbone 's  voice  dropped  to  a  low  pitch 
of  suppressed  but  withering  intensity  as  he  com- 


66  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

manded  :  "Then,  Mrs.  Brady,  you  will  kind o' 
write  your  name  on  that  line." 

Truxton  exchanged  a  glance  of  sympathetic 
intelligence  with  a  bright  young  depositor  who 
had  shared  his  relish  of  the  conversation,  and 
then,  much  refreshed  by  the  incident,  he  turned 
to  the  next  candidate  for  attention.  And  it  came 
about  that  under  the  cheering  influence  which 
the  innocent  foibles  of  one's  fellow-creatures  must 
exert  upon  a  susceptible  mind,  the  spirits  of  our 
modest  hero  made  a  very  satisfactory  rally  ;  with 
the  result  that,  before  the  morning  was  half  spent, 
he  was  wondering  what  he  had  been  so  disgruntled 
about  earlier  in  the  day. 

Later,  having  accomplished  his  prosaic  task 
with  a  slowly  reviving  appreciation  of  its  amelior- 
ating features,  he  could  think  of  nothing  more 
urgent  to  be  done  than  to  delight  Miss  Vickery's 
soul  with  an  early  return  home.  It  was  Wednes- 
day, and  he  knew  that  it  was  rarely  in  his  power 
to  bestow  a  greater  pleasure  upon  a  fellow-creature 
than  he  could  do  by  making  formal  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  old  lady's  reception  day. 

As  he  walked  up  the  path  between  the  bare 
stems  of  the  lilac-bushes  on  either  hand,  he  looked 
up,  with  a  pleasant  sense  of  family  pride,  at  the 
fine  old  mansion  which  his  grandfather  of  a  hund- 
red years  ago  had  reared  for  the  shelter  of  his 
family.  The  sentiment  of  home  was  a  very  dear 
and  intimate  one  to  Frank  Truxton.  He  had 
long  cherished  an  old-fashioned  conviction  that  it 


An  Unambitious  Hero  67 

was  about  the  best  thing  one  gets  hold  of  in  this 
world,  and  to-day  the  thought  had  taken  on  a 
personal  character  which  gave  it  a  new  vitality, 
as  if,  somehow,  it  might  blossom  into  something. 
He  never  thought  of  asking  himself  whether  he 
had  been  so  rash  as  to  lose  his  heart,  he  never 
thought  of  wondering  why  so  many  stirrings  of 
emotion  had  followed  one  another  in  his  mind 
that  day  ;  but,  as  he  placed  his  hand  upon  the 
brass  knocker,  refraining,  in  deference  to  Miss 
Vickery's  day,  from  using  his  latch-key,  the 
thought  came  to  him  of  all  the  bygone  hospitali- 
ties which  the  old  brass  dragon  stood  a  symbol  for, 
and  it  crossed  his  mind  that  he  knew  the  kind  of 
girl  he  would  like  to  make  a  home  for. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MISS  VICKERY  AT  HOME. 

IT  so  chanced  that  this  particular  Wednesday 
had  already  proved  itself  a  record-breaker 
among  Miss  Vickery's  days.  As  early  as 
three  o'clock,  when  the  camel' s-hair  scarf  was 
but  just  arranged  across  her  shoulders,  the  brass 
dragon  had  lifted  up  his  voice  in  unmistakable 
appeal,  and  Bridget,  hastily  tying  a  white  apron 
over  her  ample  form,  and  with  but  a  furtive  glance 
into  the  pretty  old  hall-mirror  framed  in  fluted 
gilt  columns,  had  opened  the  door  to  no  less  a 
personage  than  the  brand-new  minister. 

The  Reverend  Mr.  Dillaway  was  perhaps  not 
in  himself  an  inspiring  personality,  but  he  pos- 
sessed the  prime  advantage  of  novelty,  and  his 
coming  on  Miss  Vickery's  day,  which  she  had 
casually  mentioned  to  him  the  previous  Sunday, 
was  in  itself  much  in  his  favor.  He  was  a  tall, 
spare  man  of  forty,  of  so  modest  a  disposition  that 
his  height  had  always  been  an  embarrassment  to 
him.  As  he  took  the  proffered  chair,  opposite 
68 


Miss  Vickery  at  Home  69 

his  hostess,  he  was  conscious  of  some  misgivings 
as  to  his  ability  to  cope  with  so  aged  and  im- 
pressive a  lamb  of  his  flock,  and  it  was  with  no 
little  trepidation  that  his  first  tentative  remarks — 
bearing  with  needless  emphasis  upon  the  state  of 
the  weather — were  ventured.  And,  indeed,  Miss 
Vickery 's  appearance,  encompassed  by  all  the 
dignities  of  her  day,  was  well  calculated  to  dis- 
concert a  stranger  who  had  known  her  only  as  a 
becloaked  and  bemuffled  figure,  stepping  feebly 
up  the  middle  aisle  of  a  Sunday  morning. 

"  Yes,"  she  responded,  affably,  perceiving  that 
her  guest  was  ill  at  ease, — "  yes,  the  weather  is 
unseasonably  warm,  no  doubt.  I  believe  myself 
that  our  climate  is  undergoing  a  change  ' ' ;  and 
she  lifted  the  feather  fan  in  a  spirit  of  concession 
to  her  guest's  proposition. 

"  Yet  we  had  a  pretty  cold  December,"  the 
reverend  gentleman  rejoined,  gratefully  pursuing 
the  safe  and  elastic  theme  of  his  choice.  ' '  There 
was  plenty  of  zero  weather  then. ' ' 

' '  True  ;  but  it  does  n'  t  hold  out.  Why  !  "  the 
old  lady  continued,  with  that  accession  of  anima- 
tion which  marks  the  introduction  of  a  personal 
reminiscence,  "  when  I  was  a  girl,  in  the  'ao's, 
the  winter  did  not  get  his  back  broken  until  well 
into  .the  spring.  I  remember  that  on  my  birth- 
day, the  i3th  of  April,  1826,  we  had  icicles  on 
the  porch  as  large  round  as  your  arm  ; — larger, ' ' 
she  added,  with  a  glance  in  the  cause  of  accuracy 
at  the  attenuated  member  in  question. 


70  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

Then  it  was  that,  by  a  half- in  voluntary  move- 
ment, the  conscious  and  self-depreciatory  arm 
stretched  itself  forth  to  the  red-and-gold  volume 
of  Nathaniel  P.  Willis's  Poems  which  lay  upon 
the  table. 

The  Reverend  Samuel  Dillaway  took  up  the 
book,  little  dreaming  that  he  was  about  to  score 
the  first  signal  triumph  of  his  new  pastorate,  and 
observed  :  ' '  Willis  was  always  a  favorite  of  mine. 
This  is  the  edition  of  1848,  is  it  not  ?  " 

As  Miss  Vickery  responded,  with  a  delighted 
affirmative,  the  minister  turned  the  pages  of  the 
goodly  volume,  lingering  with  due  appreciation 
upon  the  illustrations,  especially  the  picture  of 
King  David,  mourning,  in  crown  and  robe,  as 
befits  a  king,  over  the  unimpeachable  remains  of 
his  son  Absalom. 

"  What  an  interesting  character  David  is," 
Mr.  Dillaway  observed.  "  I  have  long  had  in 
mind  to  make  him  the  subject  of  a  sermon." 

"  I  wish  you  would,"  Miss  Vickery  rejoined  ; 
"  and  don't  you  think  you  might  introduce  a 
quotation  from  Willis  ?  A  piece  of  poetry  seems 
to  light  up  a  sermon  more  than  anything  else." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,  Miss  Vickery,  and  I 
must  endeavor  to  act  upon  the  suggestion.  I  fear 
I  am  prone  to  pay  more  attention  to  the  practical 
application  of  my  text  than  to  its  poetic  sugges- 
tion." 

"  You  might  begin  with  the  poetry,"  said  the 
old  lady,  the  faded  eyes  brightening,  and  a  hint 


Miss  Vickery  at  Home  7 1 

of  color  touching  the  pure  old  cheeks  ;  and  then, 
in  a  voice  quavering  slightly  with  age,  but  finely 
modulated  yet,  and  delicately  incisive,  she  re- 
peated the  opening  lines  of  her  favorite  poem. 

"  The  waters  slept.     Night's  silvery  veil  hung  low 
On  Jordan's  bosom  and  the  eddies  curl'd 
Their  glassy  rings  beneath  it,  like  the  still 
Unbroken  beating  of  the  sleeper's  pulse. 
The  reeds  bent  down  the  stream  ;  the  willow  leaves 
With  a  soft  cheek  upon  the  lulling  tide 
Forgot  the  lifting  winds  ;  and  the  long  stems 
Whose  flowers  the  water,  like  a  gentle  nurse, 
Bears  on  its  bosom,  quietly  gave  way, 
And  lean'd  in  graceful  attitudes  to  rest." 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  sounds  much  like  a  ser- 
mon, ' '  she  admitted,  ' '  yet  it  seems  to  me  a  person 
feels  better  for  it." 

' '  I  think  anyone  would  feel  better  for  hearing 
you  repeat  it  !  "  cried  the  minister  in  a  tone  of 
admiring  conviction.  "  I  never  appreciated  the 
beauty  of  those  opening  lines  before." 

Is  it  any  wonder  that  Miss  Vickery  declared  it 
as  her  opinion  to  her  next  visitor — for  another 
visitor  she  had  on  this  memorable  Wednesday — 
that  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dillaway  was  a  man  of 
parts,  and  worthy  of  being  the  successor  of  Dr. 
Miles  of  sainted  memory  ? 

This  second  caller,  it  should  be  observed,  was 
not  of  that  limited  class  for  whose  benefit  one 
feels  moved  to  repeat  poetry.  The  lady  who  met 
the  Reverend  Dillaway  at  the  front  door  and  was 


72  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

thus  betrayed  into  appearing  before  Miss  Vickery 
unannounced,  was  the  daughter  of  a  former  friend 
and  neighbor,  recently  deceased. 

Mrs.  Hitchcock  was  a  widow,  an  anxious,  over- 
conscientious  woman,  quite  unfitted  to  deal  with 
the  practical  details  of  life.  By  the  perversity  of 
fate  her  five  daughters  had  never  had  the  support 
of  the  smallest  slip  of  a  brother,  and,  since  the 
unseasonable  demise  of  the  late  head  of  the  house, 
the  family  had  languished  in  unrelieved  feminin- 
ity. Especially  in  financial  matters  did  Harriet 
Hitchcock  feel  the  lack  of  a  strong  hand,  and  the 
possession  of  a  large  amount  of  tenement-house 
property  formed  a  bond  of  sympathy  with  her 
neighbor  of  other  years  which  doubtless  had  its 
part  to  play  in  the  continuance  of  her  friendly 
interest.  It  so  happened  that,  to-day,  Miss  Vick- 
ery was  led  to  expatiate  more  fully  than  before 
upon  the  miraculous  order  to  which  her  nephew 
had  reduced  her  own  affairs. 

"  How  fortunate  you  are,"  Mrs.  Hitchcock 
exclaimed,  "  to  have  a  man  to  look  after  your 
interests  !  These  agents  don't  seem  to  have  any 
respect  for  a  woman.  You  will  hardly  believe  it, 
Miss  Lucretia,  but  I  have  been  getting  so  dis- 
couraged lately,  that  I  have  tried  collecting  my 
own  rents." 

' '  My  dear  Harriet,  you  never  could  do  such  a 
thing  !  "  Miss  Vickery  protested,  in  open  conster- 
nation. "Why,  your  father  would  turn  in  his 
grave  if  he  knew  it  !  " 


Miss  Vickery  at  Home  73 

"  I  believe  he  would,"  Mrs.  Hitchcock  ad- 
mitted. "  Yes,  I  believe  that  he  would.  And 
Mr.  Hitchcock  would  not  approve,  either.  But 
neither  would  he  approve  of  letting  things  run 
down  hill.  I  have  often  heard  him  say  that  he 
would  rather  give  away  twenty-five  dollars  than 
be  defrauded  of  twenty-five  cents.  Now  if  I  only 
had  a  son  or  a  nephew  !  I  wonder,"  she  added, 
dropping  into  a  vein  of  painful  speculation, — "  I 
wonder  why  there  should  be  so  few  men  in  the 
world." 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  the  emphatic  accents 
of  the  brass  dragon  again  startled  the  echoes  of 
the  old  house,  and  a  moment  later  a  welcome 
diversion  was  made  by  the  entrance  of  Frank 
Truxton,  hat  in  hand. 

' '  What  fine  weather  you  are  having  for  your 
day,  Aunt  L,ucretia,"  he  remarked,  with  a  grati- 
fying implication  of  the  advantage  which  was 
sure  to  be  taken  of  a  sunny  Wednesday  ;  and 
then,  by  an  astonishing  feat  of  memory,  he  re- 
called the  name  of  the  visitor  whom  he  had  not 
seen  since  he  was  a  boy. 

Astonishing  at  least  it  must  have  seemed  to  a 
person  unaware  of  the  fact  that  that  colorless,  not 
strongly  individualized  face  was  indelibly  en- 
graved upon  his  memory  by  reason  of  its  expres- 
sion at  a  moment  of  extreme  embarrassment  which 
he  had  once  witnessed.  And  although  we  cannot 
suppose  that  Mrs.  Hitchcock  would  ever  forget 
her  sensation  when  her  flannel  petticoat  dropped 


74  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

off,  as  she  walked  up  Miss  Vickery's  garden-path, 
years  ago,  she  must  have  been  happily  unaware 
of  the  youngster  who  viewed  the  disaster  from 
the  branches  of  the  old  apple-tree.  There  was 
therefore  nothing  to  mar  her  satisfaction  in  the 
quick  recognition  and  cordial  greeting  of  this  fine- 
looking  young  fellow  who  seemed  at  the  same 
time  so  much  master  of  himself  and  of  the  situation. 

Different  persons  were  struck  by  different  char- 
acteristics in  Frank  Truxton,  but  few  failed  to 
discover  in  him  one  trait  or  another  of  an  engag- 
ing nature.  This  was  perhaps  owing  to  the 
crucial  fact  which  the  Widow  O'Toole  had  long 
since  proclaimed,  that  he  "  had  a  way  wid  'im  " ; 
and  though  the  Puritan  widow  was  presumably 
less  demonstrative  than  her  sister  of  Erin,  she 
was  perhaps  scarcely  less  susceptible  to  the ' '  way' ' 
which  Truxton  always  had  "  wid  'im." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  remember  you  perfectly,  Mrs. 
Hitchcock,"  he  declared,  in  answer  to  her  ex- 
pression of  gratified  surprise.  "  You  had  a  lot 
of  nice  little  girls,  ever  so  much  smaller  than  I." 

If  an  inherent  truthfulness  deterred  him  from 
calling  the  little  girls  pretty,  his  instinctive  em- 
phasis of  their  juniority  to  himself  was  one  of 
those  happy  accidents  which  he  was  fortunately 
subject  to.  An  envious  friend  had  once  accused 
Truxton  of  "  unthinking  tactfulness, "  and,  in- 
deed, there  was  something  so  transparently  un- 
premeditated about  his  happiest  ventures  that  they 
carried  with  them  a  conviction  of  sincerity. 


Miss  Vickery  at  Home  75 

"  I  am  thinking  of  sending  Louisa  abroad," 
Mrs.  Hitchcock  remarked.  ' '  Some  friends  have 
invited  her  to  join  their  party.  Louisa  has  not 
much  taste  for  society. ' ' 

Truxton,  although  he  recalled  the  rather  stolid 
appearance  of  the  eldest  Hitchcock  girl  in  child- 
hood, was  far  too  good-natured  to  speculate,  even 
in  his  own  mind,  as  to  whether  society  had  much 
taste  for  Louisa,  and  nothing  could  have  been 
more  candid  than  his  tone  as  he  replied,  "  I 
should  n't  think  any  girl's  taste  for  society  would 
stand  in  the  way  of  a  chance  to  go  to  Europe. 
Will  it  be  her  first  trip  ?  " 

Thus  launched  upon  a  fruitful  theme,  Mrs. 
Hitchcock  scarcely  noted  the  passage  of  time, 
while  Miss  Vickery  sat  by,  enjoying  the  occasion 
only  the  more  for  being  relieved  of  all  responsi- 
bility in  the  conversation.  And  by  some  process 
of  unconscious  cerebration,  while  Louisa's  mother 
was  apparently  absorbed  in  reminiscences  of  her 
bridal  trip  to  Europe  or  in  the  still  more  vivid 
pictures  of  travel  which  Truxton  unfolded  for  her 
delectation,  a  resolve  was  forming  in  her  mind, 
a  resolve  having  immediate  bearing  upon  the 
present  and  the  actual. 

"  Amoroso  had  but  one  fault,"  Truxton  was 
saying,  in  blissful  reminiscence  of  a  captivating 
Naples  cabby,  "  and  we  succeeded  in  correcting 
that  at  the  outset.  The  rascal  had  a  way  of 
cracking  his  whip  which  drove  my  mother  dis- 
tracted. They  all  do  it,  of  course,  but  there  was 


76  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

something  in  Amoroso's  eye  that  convinced  us 
that  he  was  worth  reclaiming.  We  remonstrated 
with  him,  and  possibly  our  Italian  was  susceptible 
of  misconstruction.  At  any  rate  he  cracked  the 
horrid  thing  all  the  louder,  and  we  slewed  round 
corners  at  a  breakneck  pace,  until  I  suddenly  hit 
upon  the  happy  device  of  stabbing  the  villain  with 
an  umbrella  in  the  small  of  the  back  at  every 
crack." 

"  It  must  have  hurt  him  dreadfully,"  Mrs. 
Hitchcock  demurred  ;  but  Miss  Vickery  asserted 
with  much  spirit  that  he  richly  deserved  it. 

' '  We  flattered  ourselves  that  it  was  annoying, ' ' 
her  nephew  rejoined,  gravely.  "  At  any  rate,  he 
quieted  down  and  became  our  devoted  slave  from 
that  hour.  I  don't  think  he  ever  charged  us 
more  than  double  fare,  and  that  is  saying  a  good 
deal  for  a  Naples  cabby." 

Was  there  in  Mrs.  Hitchcock's  mind  a  vague 
association  of  ideas  between  the  refractoriness  of 
an  Amoroso  and  that  of  the  class  of  free  Ameri- 
can citizens  who  are  prone  to  smash  the  windows 
of  their  hired  residences  ?  And  did  it  strike  her 
that  an  exercise  of  diplomacy  of  the  umbrella 
variety  might  be  as  efficacious  in  a  tenement- 
house  as  in  a  Naples  cab  ?  Possibly.  By  what- 
ever process  she  arrived,  Mrs.  Hitchcock  suddenly 
found  herself  possessed  of  the  conviction  that  in 
this  young  man  with  the  pleasant  face  and  nice 
manners,  who  handled  tenement-house  property 
so  easily,  rested  her  salvation  and  the  salvation 


Miss  Vickery  at  Home  77 

of  her  five  unbrothered  daughters,  and  to  her  own 
amazement  she  found  herself  remarking,  seem- 
ingly apropos  of  nothing,  ' '  You  have  a  good  deal 
of  leisure  time  at  your  disposal,  have  you  not, 
Mr.  Frank?" 

"  I  'm  ashamed  to  say  I  have,"  Mr.  Frank  ad- 
mitted. "  I  'm  always  thinking  I  must  buckle 
down  to  something  out  of  hours.  Of  course, ' '  he 
made  haste  to  explain,  "  business  does  not  end 
for  us  clerks  when  the  door  closes,  as  some  people 
seem  to  think.  Those  are  the  same  persons," 
he  added,  "  who  imagine  that  we  have  all  their 
money  packed  away  in  the  safe  !  " 

A  puzzled  look  came  into  Mrs.  Hitchcock's 
face,  almost  as  if  she  wondered  where  the  money 
was  kept  if  not  in  the  safe.  But  she  discreetly 
held  to  her  own  train  of  thought. 

' '  Miss  Vickery  has  been  telling  me, ' '  she  said, 
"  what  excellent  judgment  you  have  displayed 
in  the  care  of  her  property,  and — I  feel  very 
delicate  about  suggesting  it,  but — could  you — 
would  you — do  you  think  anything  would  in- 
duce you  to  collect  my  rents  for  me  ?  I  am 
afraid,"  she  added,  in  an  apologetic  tone,  "  that 
the  five-per-cent.  commission  would  hardly  be  an 
inducement  to  you,  but — you  might  be  glad  of 
the  occupation !  " — and  the  mistress  of  a  fortune 
paused,  quite  breathless  at  the  boldness  of  her 
initiative. 

Mrs.  Hitchcock  had  never  been  able  to  assimi- 
late her  fortune,  so  to  speak  ;  it  had  always  re- 


78  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

mained  something  impersonal  and  extraneous  ; 
the  sense  of  responsibility  far  outweighed  that 
of  possession,  and  responsibility  was  something 
she  had  never  been  capable  of  handling.  The 
late  Mr.  Hitchcock,  keenly  aware  of  his  wife's 
gentle  inadequacy,  had  been  considerate  enough 
to  leave  his  estate  in  trust.  It  was  to  her  father 
that  she  owed  the  troublesome  possessions  that 
weighed  so  heavily  upon  her  spirits. 

Meanwhile  there  was  cheerful  reassurance  in 
the  tone  of  Truxton's  voice,  in  the  very  lift  of  his 
head,  as  he  replied  :  "  Indeed,  Mrs.  Hitchcock, 
the  commission  would  be  riches,  and  there  is 
nothing  I  should  like  better — if  I  could  do  it 
satisfactorily.  I  might  not  have  as  good  luck  as 
I  have  had  with  Aunt  Z,ucretia's  property,"  he 
added,  with  a  sudden  recollection  of  the  somewhat 
expensive  method  pursued  in  handling  the  affairs 
of  the  Broad  Street  block.  ' '  Hers  are  nearly  all 
old  tenants,  and  we  understand  each  other.  But 
I  would  do  my  best,  if  you  would  give  me  a  few 
months'  trial.  Have  you  been  collecting  your 
rents  yourself?" 

Truxton  felt  as  if  he  were  inquiring  of  a  rabbit 
whether  he  had  ever  tilled  a  farm  ;  he  had  not 
until  that  moment  noted  the  peculiarly  rabbit-like 
cast  of  his  interlocutor's  countenance.  He  could 
scarcely  believe  his  ears  when  Mrs.  Hitchcock 
admitted  that  she  had,  quite  recently,  made  the 
attempt. 

"  But  I  don't  seem  to  have  much  aptitude  for 


Miss  Vickery  at  Home  79 

the  work, ' '  she  added,  ' '  and  I  am  afraid  I  should 
never  learn  to  deal  with  people  of  that  class. 
They  are  doubtless  as  good  as  we  are — at  least, 
that  is  what  we  are  taught  to  believe — but  they 
have  different  standards." 

"  I  have  noticed  it  myself,"  Truxton  agreed. 
' '  And  are  your  tenants  a  pretty  hard  lot  ?  " 

"  They  seem  to  me  so;  though  perhaps  I  judge 
them  hastily,  for  I  have  only  made  one  attempt 
as  yet.  It  was  really  very  disheartening,"  she 
went  on,  drifting  into  a  vein  of  mild,  deprecatory 
autobiography.  ' '  The  first  woman  I  went  to  told 
me  she  had  forgotten  herself  on  the  holiday,  and 
could  not  pay.  I  was  not  quite  clear  as  to  what 
she  meant,  and  I  felt  delicate  about  pressing  it." 

"  She  probably  meant  she  had  been  getting 
drunk, ' '  Miss  Vickery  surmised,  with  the  severity 
born  of  experience. 

' '  I  was  afraid  so,  but  I  did  not  feel  sure.  Then 
the  next  woman  I  called  upon  offered  me  a  cup 
of  tea — it  was  extremely  green — and  was  alto- 
gether so  hospitable  that  I  really  hesitated  to  ask 
her  for  money.  At  the  third  tenement  I  visited, 
the  man  was  so  drunk  that  he  almost  knocked  me 
over — inadvertently,  I  think,  for  he  lost  his  bal- 
ance when  he  opened  the  door.  It  did  not  really 
hurt" me,  and  I  did  not  take  offence,  because,  of 
course,  it  is  the  intention  that  one  thinks  of  in 
such  a  case.  But  I  felt  discouraged.  I  remember 
one  woman  cried  and  one  man  swore  at  me.  I 
believe  I  only  collected  three  dollars  and  a  quar- 


80  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

ter,  and  the  trip  had  cost  me  two  dollars  and  a 
half  for  cab-fare.  Since  then  I  have  been  in  a 
state  of  some  indecision  as  to  my  best  course. ' ' 

Truxton  had  held  himself  sternly  in  check 
during  this  preposterous  recital  ;  it  would  never 
do  to  permit  himself  to  perceive  the  humor  of  it. 

"  Have  you  more  than  one  piece  of  property  ?  " 
he  asked,  with  admirable  self-control. 

' '  Oh,  yes  ;  and  I  am  sure  the  others  would  be 
less  troublesome,  if  I  had  only  had  the  courage 
to  keep  on.  This  was  the  Launcelot  Avenue 
block.  My  two  mansard  houses  are  much  better 
and  the  tenants  pay  by  the  month.  And  then 
there  is  a  row  of  stores  on  Dole  Street.  You  re- 
member that  row  of  stores,  Miss  Lucretia  ?  My 
father  bought  it  of  your  family." 

"  I  don't  think  I  recall  that  particular  piece  of 
property,"  Miss  Vickery  replied,  with  a  tinge  of 
haughty  indifference  ;  "  we  have  parted  with  a 
good  deal  of  real  estate  from  time  to  time. ' ' 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  fortunate,"  said  Mrs. 
Hitchcock,  politely,  "  to  have  put  your  money 
into  some  less  wearing  investment.  My  nominal 
income  from  this  property,"  she  went  on,  turning 
to  her  newly  acquired  agent,  ' '  is  something  like 
four  thousand  dollars,  but  what  with  bad  tenants 
and  repairs  and  taxes  and  insurance  we  seem  to 
get  very  little.  The  accounts  always  make  a 
good  appearance,  but  the  checks  never  seem  to  be 
for  a  proportionate  amount  !  " 

"It  's  a  kind  of  work  I  like,"  Truxton  de- 


Miss  Vickery  at  Home  8 1 

clared  ;  "  and  I  have  been  wishing  that  I  could 
try  my  hand  at  it.  Aunt  Lucre tia's  tenants  are 
nearly  all  Irish,  but  I  suppose  you  have  all 
kinds." 

' '  Yes,  that  is  one  of  the  great  difficulties  ;  so 
many  of  them  do  not  speak  English. ' ' 

"  That  will  give  me  a  chance  to  practise  the 
lingo.  I  picked  up  an  odd  lot  of  it  while  we 
were  abroad  and  I  rather  guess  I  can  hit  it  off 
with  those  Dagos  and  Dutchies.  They  talk  such 
a  jargon  that  they  '11  take  me  for  one  of  them- 
selves. ' ' 

' '  Then  you  will  really  undertake  this  trouble- 
some business  ?  ' '  the  visitor  repeated,  as  she  took 
her  departure,  a  few  minutes  later,  filled  with  a 
mild  elation  at  her  own  prowess  in  bringing 
about  this  astonishing  solution  of  a  difficulty. 

"  Indeed  I  will,"  Truxton  declared,  opening 
the  door  for  her  exit.  ' '  I  shall  be  ready  to  tackle 
it  at  any  time  you  say." 

He  stood  a  moment,  watching  her  progress 
down  the  path  ;  her  mental  excitement  and  the 
exhilaration  of  her  spirits  found  expression  in  a 
quickening  of  her  usual  gait  which  resulted  in 
something  curiously  like  a  series  of  small  hops. 

"  Aunt  Lucretia,"  he  said,  as  he  returned  to 
the  long  parlor  and  took  a  seat  near  the  hostess 
of  the  day,  "  I  don't  want  to  be  disrespectful,  but 
— did  it  ever  strike  you  that  Mrs.  Hitchcock  re- 
sembled a  rabbit  ?  ' ' 

"  Oh,   yes,"    Miss  Vickery  replied,   with  an 

6 


82  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

answering  twinkle  which  betrayed  one  secret  of 
the  peculiarly  good  understanding  existing  be- 
tween these  next  of  kin.  "  I  always  wanted  to 
call  her  Bunny  !  " 

Presently,  after  a  little  desultory  talk  of  a  not 
too  taxing  nature,  the  old  lady  remarked:  "  It  's 
going  to  be  a  great  thing  for  Harriet  Hitchcock 
to  have  you  take  an  interest  in  her  affairs ;  if 
only  it  will  not  be  too  much  for  you." 

' '  Too  much  ?  No,  indeed  !  Why,  Aunt 
Lucretia,  I  am  going  to  work  this  thing  up  into 
something  big  one  of  these  days  !  ' ' 

There  was  a  ring  in  the  boy's  voice  of  some- 
thing more  than  good  spirits,  which  the  old  lady 
was  quick  to  note.  She  gave  him  a  look  as  un- 
usual in  its  sharpness  and  penetration  as  the 
challenge  of  his  tone  had  been. 

"  Don't  be  too  sanguine,"  she  said,  with  grave 
emphasis  ;  "  that  has  always  been  our  family 
weakness."  It  was  the  first  time  Truxton  had 
ever  known  Miss  Vickery  to  admit  the  existence 
of  such  a  thing  as  a  weakness  in  the  family. 
"  We  always  think  we  are  going  to  get  rich," 
she  added,  ' '  but  we  never  do. ' '  And  somehow 
her  nephew  felt  like  a  small  boy  again,  and  half 
expected  her  to  produce  a  paper  of  smooth,  slip- 
pery barley-drops  for  the  amelioration  of  an  en- 
forced severity. 

"  Not  rich  in  money,  perhaps,"  he  answered, 
gently,  ' '  only  rich  in  work  ;  which  is  better  still, 
I  'm  thinking." 


Miss  Vickery  at  Home  83 

Then  the  old  face  relaxed,  just  as  it  used  to  do 
after  warnings  in  regard  to  apple-trees  or  admo- 
nitions touching  Sunday  suits,  and  Miss  Vickery 
said,  with  a  willing  relapse  into  her  habitual  con- 
fidence :  "  Ah,  then  I  have  no  fear  ;  for  I  know 
that  the  laborer  will  be  worthy  of  his  hire  ' '  ;  and 
there  was  a  tone  of  happy  prophecy  in  her  voice 
that  was  better  than  barley-drops. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

HIGH   AND   LOW. 

WHEN  Truxton  called  upon  Mrs.  Hitch- 
cock the  following  afternoon,  with  a 
view  to  talking  things  over,  he  found 
that  the  unassuming  widow  maintained  a  style  of 
living  which  indicated  wealth  and  worldly  conse- 
quence. The  house  was  in  the  fashionable 
quarter  of  the  city,  and  if,  by  chance,  the  ap- 
proaching visitor  had  failed  to  note  the  significant 
fact  of  its  double  frontage,  one  glance  at  the 
butler,  with  his  air  of  permanence  and  self- 
possession,  would  have  sufficed  to  rank  the  estab- 
lishment. Within  was  an  atmosphere  of  solid  if 
rather  heavy  respectability,  and,  before  Truxton 
had  reached  the  door  of  the  library,  he  had  formed 
so  distinct  an  impression  of  what  the  late  Mr. 
Hitchcock  must  have  been,  that  the  portrait  of 
the  deceased,  in  black  broadcloth,  confronting 
him  as  he  entered,  seemed  like  an  old  acquaint- 
ance. So  masterful  was  the  countenance,  and  so 
lifelike  too,  that  Truxton  was  in  danger  of  over- 
84 


High  and  Low  85 

looking  the  modest  figure  that  rose  to  meet 
him. 

"Yes,  that  is  my  husband,"  the  widow  re- 
marked, as  the  visitor  hastily  transferred  his 
attention  from  the  past  to  the  present  head  of  the 
house.  "  It  is  considered  one  of  Harmon's  best. 
It  was  taken  the  year  before  Mr.  Hitchcock  died. 
I  used  to  think,"  she  continued,  sighing  gently, 
' '  that  I  should  find  real  support  in  it,  but — it  is 
not  at  all  the  same  thing. ' ' 

As  Truxton  took  the  proffered  hand,  he  ex- 
perienced so  strong  an  impulse  of  protection  to- 
ward the  vague  and  appealing  little  lady,  that  the 
futility  of  her  small  outburst  of  confidence  was 
quite  lost  upon  him.  Indeed,  it  was  fortunate 
that  there  could  be  no  question  of  pecuniary  em- 
barrassment in  this  sumptuous  abode  ;  otherwise 
he  might  have  felt  constrained  to  adopt  the  same 
methods  in  the  care  of  the  Hitchcock  property 
which  he  had  employed  at  some  cost  to  himself 
in  that  of  the  Broad  Street  block. 

To-day  Mrs.  Hitchcock,  though  not  usually 
distinguished  for  a  very  straight  aim  in  conver- 
sation, had  her  objective  point  too  prominently 
in  view  for  indulgence  in  further  observations  un- 
connected with  the  subject  in  hand,  and  hardly 
were  they  seated  before  she  remarked  :  "  I  some- 
times have  a  feeling  that  my  husband  would  not 
approve  of  this  tenement-house  property.  Not 
that  he  ever  expressed  an  opinion  on  the  subject  ; 
but  I  have  always  been  liable  to  very  strong  im- 


86  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

pressions  as  to  what  he  would  disapprove  of.  I 
only  wish  I  could  feel  as  sure  of  what  would 
please  him.  That  was  always  more  difficult." 

Truxton  glanced  again,  involuntarily,  at  the 
strong  jaw  and  stern  eyes  of  the  portrait.  He 
found  no  difficulty  in  believing  that  the  late  Mr. 
Hitchcock  had  laid  more  emphasis  upon  his 
aversions  than  upon  his  predilections.  Indeed, 
it  was  gradually  dawning  upon  him  that  Mrs. 
Hitchcock  was  a  widow  only  in  name  ;  that  she 
was,  so  to  speak,  still  subject  to  the  marital  bonds. 

"  Did  your  husband  never  propose  getting  rid 
of  the  property  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  He  never  knew  of  it ;  it  came  to  me  by  in- 
heritance after  his  death." 

"  And  have  you  not  thought  of  selling  it  ?  " 
Truxton  persisted,  thus  unhesitatingly  jeopardiz- 
ing his  modest  business  opening. 

"  No,  I  never  could  do  that  ;  it  would  seem 
disloyal  to  father.  He  had  such  faith  in  that 
form  of  investment,  and  he  was  almost  as  firm  in 
his  opinions  as  Mr.  Hitchcock.  That  is  my 
father,"  she  added,  lifting  a  framed  photograph 
from  the  table  and  handing  it  to  her  guest.  ' '  He 
died  three  years  ago." 

The  photograph  was  of  a  small,  rather  wizened, 
elderly  man,  with  thin  lips  that  shut  like  a  vise. 
As  Truxton  examined  it  more  closely  he  was 
conscious  of  an  accession  of  respect  for  the  seem- 
ingly inadequate  personality  of  his  new  employer. 
She  appeared,  indeed,  to  lack  stamina  ;  yet  she 


High  and  Low  87 

had  survived  the  upper  and  the  nether  mill- 
stone ! 

"  I  remember  your  father's  face  very  well,"  he 
said.  ' '  He  used  to  ride  a  tall,  bony  thoroughbred. 
Gray,  was  he  not,  with  a  black  spot  on  his  nose  ?  ' ' 

"  No,  my  father's  hair  never  turned  ;  you  must 
have  confused  him  with  someone  else." 

' '  It  was  the  horse  I  was  thinking  of, ' '  Truxton 
explained.  "  He  bit  at  me  once  when  I  offered 
him  an  apple,  and  I  noticed  the  black  spot." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  old  Razor  had  rather  an  ugly  dis- 
position ;  I  was  always  afraid  of  him.  So  you 
see,"  with  an  unconsciously  suggestive  transition; 
1 '  I  should  naturally  not  wish  to  cross  my  father, 
now  that  he  is  gone."  And  with  that,  Mrs. 
Hitchcock  turned  her  attention  to  the  file  of  ac- 
counts which  Truxton  was  to  take  charge  of. 

Business  over,  ensued  a  tea-drinking  in  the 
family  sitting-room,  enlivened  by  four  of  the  five 
Hitchcock  girls,  including,  besides  Louisa  and 
the  twins,  the  youngest  of  all,  Amelia,  a  tall, 
handsome  young  person  of  eighteen,  who  promptly 
confided  to  the  visitor  that  the  only  reason  in  the 
world  why  she  was  not  out  this  winter  like  half 
her  friends  was  because  she  had  such  a  lot  of  older 
sisters. 

' '  But  Louisa  is  going  abroad  another  year, ' ' 
she  added,  with  cheerful  resignation,  "  and  we 
shall  not  have  so  much  the  appearance  of  a  con- 
gested district." 

"  It  is  n't  half  so  bad  to  be  the  youngest  as  to 


88  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

be  a  twin,"  Julia  declared,  with  a  decision-  in- 
herited perhaps  from  her  father, — or  might  it  have 
been  from  her  grandfather  ?  ' '  When  Annie  and 
I  came  out  we  did  n't  have  half  the  attention  we 
ought  to  have  had,  because  people  did  n't  like  to 
discriminate." 

"  More  likely  they  did  n't  know  how,"  the 
other  twin  remarked  ;  "  we  are  alike  as  two  peas. 
Roland  Ware  told  me,  the  night  of  our  coming- 
out  party,  that  if  I  would  have  the  tip  of  my  ear 
gilded,  I  should  have  all  the  partners." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  why,"  said  Julia, 
bridling  visibly. 

"  Because  the  men  would  at  least  know  which 
I  was,  while  there  would  be  nothing  to  distin- 
guish you." 

"  I  don't  know  why,  if  they  knew  one  they 
should  n't  know  the  other,"  Louisa  remarked,  in 
exactly  the  same  matter-of-fact  tone  in  which  she 
had  years  ago  explained  to  Frank  that  "  things 
that  are  equal  to  one  thing  are  equal  to  another  ! ' ' 

"  You  don't  seem  to  me  a  bit  alike,"  he  de- 
clared, with  an  ingratiating  interest  in  the  sub- 
ject ;  and  indeed  their  likeness  was  only  that  of 
the  same  landscape  with  and  without  the  sun. 
The  atmosphere  was  totally  different. 

"  But  they  are  exactly  alike,"  Louisa  insisted. 
"  Every  single  feature  is  the  same." 

"  Oh,  the  features,  I  grant  you.  But  then,  we 
all  have  eyes  and  ears  and  noses." 

"  Annie  says  I  have  n't  any  nose,"  Julia  inter- 


High  and  Low  89 

posed,  "because  I  don't  notice  fresh  violets  the 
minute  I  open  the  front  door." 

"  I  don't  always  notice  them  myself,"  Annie 
remarked,  drily. 

' '  Now,  Mr.  Truxton,  it  is  your  turn  to  be  per- 
sonal, just  to  keep  us  in  countenance,"  said 
Amelia,  with  the  clear,  incisive  utterance  which 
she  had  not  inherited  from  her  mother. 

"I'm  ready  enough  to  take  a  hand.  To  begin 
with,  who  is  Roland  Ware  ?  ' ' 

"  Roland  Ware  ?  Oh,  he  is  Herbert  Lincoln's 
cousin,"  Amelia  declared,  with  alacrity.  "  You 
know  Herbert  Lincoln,  the  captain  of  the  'Varsity 
Eleven  ? ' ' 

"  By  reputation,  yes,"  Frank  made  haste  to 
assure  her,  being  well  aware  that  upon  his  answer 
depended  his  standing  in  the  opinion  of  these 
rather  jolly  girls.  He  knew  also  that  any  further 
inquiry  concerning  a  young  man  so  distinguished 
in  his  cousin  would  be  regarded  as  irrelevant. 

"  Do  you  go  in  for  foot-ball  ?  "  Annie  asked. 

"  Not  particularly,  though  I  like  everything 
of  the  sort.  Base-ball  was  my  game  at  college, ' ' 
and  his  mind  reverted,  with  a  quite  patriarchal 
reminiscence,  to  the  time  when  he  was  captain  of 
the  Freshman  Nine. 

A  far  more  lively  reminiscence  confronted  him 
five  minutes  later,  when,  as  he  passed  down  the 
steps  of  the  Hitchcock  mansion,  a  stentorian  voice 
struck  his  ear,  shouting,  "  Hullo,  Cap. !  "  and  he 
beheld  his  old  college  classmate,  Will  Shepleigh, 


go  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

making  a  dash  across  the  street  like  an  athletic 
ghost  of  the  past. 

"  Where  in  thunder  do  you  hail  from  ?  "  Shep- 
leigh  inquired,  in  the  challenging  tone  which  had 
won  him  the  nickname  of  ' '  Gladiator. ' ' 

"  I  should  think  it  was  you  who  were  doing 
the  hailing,  Gladdy  !  I  thought  they  must  have 
got  telephone  connection  with  San  Francisco 
when  I  heard  your  voice." 

"  No,"  Shepleigh  replied,  as  the  two  young 
men  walked  up  the  street  together  ;  "  the  con- 
nection in  the  present  instance  is  strictly  matri- 
monial. I  'm  married  !  " 

' '  You  ?  Married  ?  Great  Caesar  !  how  did  that 
happen?  " 

"  Well,  there  was  a  general  swirl  of  orange- 
blossoms  and  wedding-marches  and  gold  rings, 
and  the  thing  was  done  ! ' ' 

"  Of  course  !  Only  I  was  wondering  how  it 
came  about.  You  never  would  look  at  a  girl." 

"  Perhaps  that  was  why,  when  my  eye  chanced 
to  fall  upon  one,  I  caved,"  the  modern  Benedick 
suggested,  with  a  grin  which  reminded  Truxton 
of  the  way  he  used  to  look  when  he  had  scored  a 
home-run. 

"  You  always  did  have  a  nattering  way  with 
you,  Gladdy.  Have  you  ever  explained  the  thing 
to  Mrs.  Shepleigh?" 

' '  There  was  no  occasion  for  explanations.  We 
were  both  hit,  and  when  her  father  made  con- 
ditions we  were  the  meekest  kids  you  ever  saw. 


High  and  Low  91 

That  's  why  I  settled  here.  The  old  man  de- 
clared he  could  n't  live  without  Clara,  and  as  I 
could  n't  either,  I  had  a  fellow-feeling,  and 
obligingly  let  him  take  me  into  the  firm, — Dash- 
ley,  Hunt  &  Co.,  Bankers.  Has  a  speculative 
sound,  has  n't  it  ?  But  we  are  the  safest  concern 
in  the  city.  My  father-in-law  is  Hunt — fine  old 
boy.  And  now,  what  have  you  got  to  say  for 
yourself,  Cap.  ?  ' ' 

"  My  story  is  strikingly  similar  to  yours," 
Truxton  declared,  facetiously.  "  I  also  have 
become  both  domestic  and  practical.  I  reside 
with  my  great-aunt,  and  draw  a  salary  at  the 
Pilgrim  Savings  Bank." 

Shepleigh  looked  thoughtful. 

"I  say,  old  man,"  he  exclaimed,  "it  must 
have  been  rough  on  you,  quitting  college,  and  all 
that.  We  heard  you  had  gone  abroad,  and  that 
was  the  last  of  you.  Why  did  n't  you  keep  us 
posted?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  I  always  did  hate 
readin',  writin',  and  'rithmetic." 

"  You  must  get  plenty  of  all  three  in  that 
daisy  institution  you  've  got  stuck  in." 

"  There  are  no  frills  to  that,  and  I  don't  really 
mind  figures." 

' '  "Bver  hear  from  any  of  the  old  gang  ?  ' ' 

"  Nobody  but  Tom  Sanders.  Ran  into  him 
one  day  in  New  York.  He  's  in  Colorado,  doing 
the  mining-stock  trick. ' ' 

"  Guess  they  've  got  a  big  thing  out  there,  if 


92  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

they  know  how  to  handle  it,"  Shepleigh  opined, 
with  the  judicial  tone  befitting  a  representative  of 
Dashley,  Hunt  &  Co. 

"  lyooks  like  it,"  Truxton  agreed  ;  but  he 
omitted  to  mention  a  postal-card  reposing  in  his 
pocket,  and  bearing  the  mystic  legend  : 

"  Everything  humming.     She  touched  47  this  morning. 
Hold  on  for  your  life," 

and  which,  being  intrepreted,  meant  that  a  paltry 
$500,  entrusted  to  the  discretion  of  Tom  Sanders, 
had  become  inflated  to  the  tune  of  $4700.  Trux- 
ton was  the  last  man  to  talk  about  his  own  affairs, 
and,  indeed,  he  almost  forgot  he  had  any,  in  the 
pleasurable  exhilaration  of  this  encounter. 

"  Sorry  that  I  'm  off  to-morrow  for  a  ten  days' 
trip  to  Chicago  and  St.  I^ouis,"  Shepleigh  re- 
marked, as  they  were  about  to  separate.  "  And 
Clara  says  she  's  going  too.  But  —  see  here, 
Frank  ;  we  '  ve  got  a  dinner  on  for  to-morrow  fort- 
night, and  Clara  told  me  this  morning  we  must 
have  a  new  man  for  a  feature.  It 's  the  finger  of 
Providence,  and  you  've  got  to  be  the  feature." 

"  Feature  !  I  should  feel  more  like  a  freak  ! 
Do  you  know,  come  to  think  of  it,  I  never  went 
to  a  dinner  in  my  life  !  ' ' 

"  You  must  be  hungry,  then  !  But  what  do 
you  mean  ?  Don't  you  like  them  ?  " 

' '  How  can  I  tell  ?  I  never  had  a  chance  to 
try." 

"  Oh,  I  see  ;  you  don't  know  anybody,"  Shep- 


High  and  Low  93 

leigh  surmised,  with  brutal  frankness  ;  "  well, 
it  's  time  you  did.  This  shall  be  your  coming- 
out  party.  You  '11  make  a  lovely  bud  !  " 

"  All  right  ;  if  I  can  get  into  my  swallow-tail, 
I  '11  come." 

"  You  shall  have  a  ticket  in  the  morning. 
Bye-bye  !  " 

"  Hold  on  a  minute,"  Truxton  cried,  after  the 
receding  form  of  his  friend  ;  "  which  arm  do  you 
give  a  girl  when  you  take  her  in  ?  " 

"  The  other  one,"  was  the  cheerful  reply,  and 
Shepleigh's  stalwart  form  was  already  growing 
less  in  the  distance. 

The  prospective  bud  was  perhaps  less  agitated 
in  view  of  his  early  appearance  in  the  great  world 
than  would  have  been  the  case  had  the  prospect 
opened  at  a  less  interesting  moment  of  his  busi- 
ness career.  He  had,  to  be  sure,  a  grateful 
warmth  somewhere  inside  of  him  for  days  to 
come,  but  it  was  a  warmth  arising  rather  from 
the  genial  roar  of  Shepleigh's  greeting  and  the 
hearty  grasp  of  his  enormous  hand,  than  from  any 
thought  of  the  untried  pleasures  which  the  meet- 
ing guaranteed.  Meanwhile,  before  a  second  sun 
had  set  upon  him  in  the  character  of  Mrs.  Hitch- 
cock's authorized  agent,  he  had  become  deeply 
absorbed  in  the  complicated  business  of  extract- 
ing small  sums  from  reluctant  tenants. 

Truxton  was  not  altogether  surprised  to  find  in 
Launcelot  Avenue  a  thoroughfare  which  hardly 
lived  up  to  its  knightly  name  ;  yet,  upon  enter- 


94  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

ing  the  rather  disreputable  building  entrusted  to 
his  care,  he  found  himself  hailed  as  an  old  ac- 
quaintance by  more  than  one  of  the  denizens  of 
that  crowded  human  pigeon-house.  And,  since 
the  depositors  of  the  Pilgrim  Savings  Bank  are 
about  five  thousand  per  cent,  more  numerous  than 
its  officials,  it  is  perhaps  natural  that  some  of  the 
ladies  and  gentlemen  who  claimed  acquaintance 
should,  in  polite  parlance,  have  had  the  advantage 
of  him. 

This,  however,  was  not  always  the  case.  In 
old  Isaac  Klingstein,  for  example,  the  sole  occu- 
pant of  a  dingy  tenement  under  the  roof,  Truxton 
could  not  fail  to  recognize  a  star  depositor.  He 
was  an  ancient  rag-and-bottle  merchant  who  had 
undertaken  to  smuggle  a  second  thousand  dollars 
into  the  bank  in  the  name  of  a  fictitious  daughter, 
and  although,  when  confronted  with  his  own 
statement  of  celibacy,  recorded  on  the  bank  regis- 
ter, he  had  unhesitatingly  declared  that  the 
daughter  was  an  adopted  niece,  he  was  unable  to 
bring  proof  of  her  existence,  and  was  forced  to  en- 
trust his  superfluous  thousand  to  another  savings- 
institution  of  whose  invulnerability  he  appeared 
to  be  less  firmly  convinced.  This  circumstance, 
which  Truxton  chanced  to  recall,  taken  in  con- 
nection with  very  considerable  arrears  in  rent, 
was  sufficient  explanation  of  the  fact  that  the  old 
man  betrayed  no  recognition  of  the  new  agent. 
The  chance  information,  however,  so  far  facili- 
tated Truxton 's  labors,  that  when  he  left  the 


High  and  Low  95 

Klingstein  perch  lie  had  "  cleaned  up  "  the  entire 
eleven  dollars  and  a  quarter  due,  and  that  he  car- 
ried with  him  a  comfortable  assurance  that  the 
dollar  and  a  quarter  a  week  would  hereafter  be 
forthcoming. 

Truxton  was  not  without  natural  qualifications 
for  the  work  he  had  undertaken.  His  instinctive 
quickness  of  sympathy  which,  if  of  the  unintelli- 
gent variety,  might  have  made  him  an  easy  dupe, 
was  tempered  by  a  certain  shrewdness  of  percep- 
tion, and  he  was  furthermore  possessed  of  a  fund 
of  sound  common  sense  which  enabled  him  to 
keep  a  pretty  firm  hold  on  the  proper  relation  of 
things.  If  old  Mother  Wiley  was  a  pathetic 
figure,— and  that  she  indisputably  was,  with  her 
trembling  voice  and  her  shaking  hand, — Truxton 
was  not  long  in  discovering  that  she  had  a  son 
who  would  have  been  well  able  to  give  her  house- 
room,  had  he  not  indulged  in  the  luxury  of  a 
handsome  termagant  to  wife  ;  and  the  new  agent 
soon  brought  home  to  him  the  fact  that  if  the 
back  rents  were  not  paid  he  would  be  forced  to 
adopt  the  only  remaining  alternative,  and  stir  up 
a  domestic  hornet's  nest  by  the  introduction  of  an 
alien  into  his  household. 

Yet  Truxton  did  not  scorn  to  humor  a  tenant 
who"  met  his  views  as  to  probity  and  cleanliness. 
In  one  of  the  mansard  houses,  for  instance,  he 
found  an  excellent  lodger  on  the  point  of  de- 
parture to  "  a  more  desirable  tenement."  He 
soon  discovered  that  neither  location  nor  enlarged 


g6  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

space  was  the  attraction.  From  vague  hints  as 
to  the  liberality  of  the  prospective  landlord,  he 
was  at  first  led  to  believe  that  nothing  short  of  a 
porcelain  bath-tub  or  plate-glass  windows  formed 
the  bait.  We  may  fancy  his  joy,  then,  when  it 
transpired  that  a  magenta  wall-paper  which  ex- 
actly matched  a  magnificent  plush  sofa,  recentl)- 
acquired,  was  the  desideratum.  The  former  agent 
had  bluntly  refused  to  replace  a  fairly  good  paper, 
and,  in  consequence,  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Delay  pro- 
posed diverting  her  fifteen  dollars  a  month  into 
a  more  remunerative  channel.  The  lady  was  not 
easily  mollified  ;  but  when  Truxton,  in  addition 
to  a  promise  of  the  deepest  magenta  to  be  found 
at  ten  cents  a  roll,  let  fall  certain  dazzling  hints 
as  to  a  gilt  border,  Mrs.  Delay  acknowledged  her- 
self vanquished,  and  the  prospective  landlord's 
schemes  went  up  in  an  incarnadined  smoke  with 
lurid  gilt  edges. 

Not  that  Truxton  was  invariably  successful. 
Before  a  week  was  past  he  was  obliged  to  own 
himself  worsted  in  an  encounter  with  a  gentleman 
of  Irish  extraction,  who  had  established  himself 
and  a  cracked  fiddle  over  a  cheap  eating-house  in 
the  Dole  Street  row.  It  appeared  that  Mr.  Casey 
was  in  the  habit  of  discoursing  sweet  music  of  an 
evening  "  down  below,"  in  return  for  which  favor 
he  was  sumptuously  fed  every  day  ;  and  in  his 
scheme  of  life  there  seemed  to  be  no  more  pro- 
vision for  rent-money  than  for  restaurant  charges. 
He  was  a  genial  soul,  and  he  knew  his  value. 


High  and  Low  97 

"  Yes,  sorr,"  he  declared  with  conscious  pride  ; 
"  me  and  me  fiddle,  they  kapes  the  restorang  go- 
in'  most  as  good  as  if  it  was  liquor-licensed." 

He  expressed  entire  readiness  to  vacate  the 
premises,  but  he  dropped  a  sinister  hint  as  to 
Doherty's  declared  intention  to  quit  if  he  did, 
and  when  a  subsequent  interview  with  the  rubi- 
cund Doherty  confirmed  his  estimate  of  the  value 
to  the  "restorang"  of  the  "attraction"  which 
alone  deterred  him  from  moving  his  flourishing 
establishment  to  more  desirable  quarters,  Trux- 
ton  concluded  that,  for  the  present,  at  least,  thirty 
dollars  in  the  hand  was  worth  thirty-five  in  the 
bush,  and  discreetly  allowed  the  fiddle  an  exten- 
sion of  time. 

And,  after  all,  perhaps  the  most  valuable  feature 
of  Truxton's  equipment  for  his  new  work  was  his 
unfailing  interest  in  his  own  kind,  and  his  pro- 
nounced taste  for  studying  the  subject  at  its 
source.  He  was  not  much  of  a  reader,  having 
always  preferred  people  to  books.  Indeed,  he 
had  a  half- formulated  theory  that  books  were  a 
kind  of  natural-history  museum  in  which  one's 
fellow-creatures  are  stuck  through  with  pins  and 
preserved  in  alcohol.  Even  as  a  boy,  when  he 
was  addicted  to  turtles  and  toads  and  snakes,  the 
which  were  sometimes  found  making  disconcert- 
ing pilgrimages  down  the  front  stairs,  he  had  paid 
but  scant  attention  to  the  defunct  specimens  in 
his  father's  laboratory.  From  the  first  he  had  had 
a  lively  appreciation  of  the  bank  depositor  in  his 

7 


98  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

purely  social  aspect,  and  his  otherwise  unre- 
munerative  labors  among  Miss  Vickery's  tenants 
had  been  enlivened  by  more  than  one  choice  ex- 
ample of  the  comedy  of  life.  Now,  again,  as  his 
field  was  enlarged,  and  as  the  possibilities  of 
Launcelot  Avenue  and  the  mansard  houses  were 
gradually  unfolded,  he  could  only  wonder  anew 
at  the  infinite  variety  of  human  nature.  Not  one 
of  the  forty-odd  tenants  of  his  new  employer  could 
possibly  be  mistaken  for  one  of  his  old  friends, 
and  so  in  love  did  he  grow  with  their  idiosyn- 
crasies, that  their  appearance  on  the  front  stairs 
of  his  consciousness,  so  to  speak,  was  a  thing  of 
daily  occurrence. 

But  if  the  men  and  women,  with  their  sharply 
individualized  personalities,  proved  a  mental 
stimulus,  it  was  the  children  of  the  tenements 
that  gave  him  the  most  unmixed  delight.  The 
little  Micks  of  the  Broad  Street  block  had  long 
since  discovered  that  the  "  gintleman's"  coat- 
pockets  were  a  storehouse  of  agreeable  possibili- 
ties, and  we  may  be  sure  that  he  did  not  enter 
upon  his  new  duties  unprovided  with  his  "  baby- 
fodder.  ' '  He  was  an  adept  at  shooting  a  barley- 
drop  down  an  open  mouth,  and  his  unerring  aim 
in  so  good  a  cause  commanded  the  immediate 
and  unqualified  respect  of  every  ragamuffin  in 
the  Launcelot  Avenue  block.  He  had,  too,  an 
engaging  way  of  insinuating  one  of  those  succu- 
lent globules  between  the  pouting  lips  of  the 
sulkiest  little  damsel  of  five,  and  even  the  "  young 


High  and  Low  99 

infants  " — thus  fondly  designated  by  their  parents 
— had  been  known  to  relax  their  expression  of 
preternatural  solemnity,  upon  the  insertion  of  a 
pleasing  sweet  between  their  laboring  gums. 

Truxton  always  held  barley-drops  in  high 
esteem,  partly  for  the  sake  of  early  association, 
but  also  because  of  their  extreme  lightness  in  the 
confectioner's  scale.  It  was  really  amazing  to 
find  how  many  war-whoops  of  joy  and  inarticulate 
cooings  of  ecstasy  could  be  purchased  for  fifteen 
cents,  and  if  parental  recognition  of  such  courte- 
sies sometimes  facilitated  the  unloosing  of  other- 
wise reluctant  purse-strings,  why,  all  the  better 
for  the  monthly  accounts  ! 

It  must  be  admitted  that  most  of  Truxton' s 
spare  time  during  the  first  fortnight  of  his  novi- 
tiate in  Mrs.  Hitchcock's  service,  was  spent  in  the 
collection  of  the  hundred- odd  dollars  which  he 
gathered  in  ;  yet  he  felt  himself  amply  repaid  for 
his  labors.  For,  apart  from  his  satisfaction  in 
the  large  number  of  interesting  acquaintances  he 
had  made,  apart  from  the  really  poignant  delights 
it  had  been  permitted  him  to  dispense  among  the 
children,  there  was  his  commission  to  gloat  over. 

Truxton  went  over  his  accounts  several  times 
on  the  second  Saturday  evening,  to  make  sure 
that  he  was  fairly  entitled  to  the  nine  dollars  and 
forty-five  cents  which  appeared  to  be  his.  Some- 
how it  seemed  to  him  a  vastly  more  interesting 
sum  than  that  implied  in  Tom  Sanders's  last 
postal-card.  The  card  was  in  his  pocket,  and 


i  oo  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

when  his  accounts  were  settled,  with  the  scrupu- 
lous care  of  a  bank-auditor,  he  pulled  it  out  and 
read  it  again. 

"  Still  humming.     Passed  50  cts.  without  a  sag.     Can  see 
a  dollar  round  the  corner." 

"  H'm  !  "  Truxton  growled,  thrusting  out  his 
under  lip  exactly  as  his  father  used  to  do  when  he 
was  considering  the  advisability  of  a  change  of 
medicine.  He  supposed  he  was  a  fool  not  to 
realize.  He  thought  it  queer  that  the  matter  did 
not  seem  more  important. 

"  Five  thousand  dollars,"  he  said  to  himself. 
' '  Five  thousand  dollars  !  I  wonder  why  it  looks 
so  much  smaller  than  that  nine  dollars  and  forty- 
five  cents  I  've  been  grubbing  over." 

And  at  this  juncture  it  occurred  to  him  that  he 
had  better  get  his  dress-suit  out  and  have  it 
pressed  the  first  of  the  week. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  soliloquized,  as  he  shook  out 
the  coat, — "  I  wonder  whether  there  will  be  any- 
one there  as  interesting  as  Patsy  Casey." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


A 


A   PLEASANT   DINNER. 

NEW  man  ?  That  sounds  promising, ' ' 
Ruth  Ware  exclaimed,  as  she  seated 
herself  beside  her  hostess  in  the  Shep- 
leigh  drawing-room,  to  which  charming  apart- 
ment recent  wedding-presents  lent  something  the 
air  of  a  museum  of  bric-a-brac.  "  And  you  are 
going  to  let  him  take  me  in  ?  " 

"  Not  very  flattering  to  the  rest  of  us,"  Shep- 
leigh  declared,  with  a  self-congratulatory  chuckle. 
Ruth  was  sure  to  be  nice  to  Truxton. 

"  It  's  such  a  short  time  since  you  were  new 
yourself,  Mr.  Shepleigh,  that  one  is  naturally 
sanguine  about  novelties,"  she  retorted. 

Ruth  Ware  was  one  of  those  girls  who  never 
look  overdressed.  On  this  occasion  she  carried 
with  her  an  agreeable  atmosphere  of  pale  blue 
which  perhaps  had  its  part  to  play  in  the  impres- 
sion of  benignity  which  was  so  reassuring  to 
Truxton's  social  sponsor.  She  had  been  the  first 
to  arrive,  and  as  she  took  the  leisurely  survey  of 


IO2  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

the  room  which  could  not  but  be  gratifying  to  a 
hostess  conscious  of  many  treasures  and  of  some 
taste,  she  remarked,  "  How  well  you  always 
manage  your  lights,  Clara  ! ' ' 

"  That  is  because  I  can't  afford  to  sit  in  a 
glare,"  Mrs.  Shepleigh  returned,  with  the  indo- 
lent accent  derived  from  a  Southern  grandmother, 
and  which  was  in  marked  contrast  with  the  brisk- 
ness of  speech  natural  to  the  New  England  girls 
among  whom  she  had  been  brought  up.  She 
even  allowed  herself  an  occasional  pause  in  mid- 
sentence,  with  the  result  that  she  was  not  always 
permitted  to  finish  what  she  had  intended  saying. 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  more  fatal  to  the 
complexion  than  a  glare,"  she  continued  ;  "and 
that  is  blue  candle-shades.  Nobody  can  stand 
blue  shades  ;  nobody,  that  is,  who  has  any  objec- 
tion to  looking  like  a  dyspeptic  ghost.  The  new 
man,"  she  added,  as  if  to  escape  a  too  painful 
theme,  "  is  Frank  Truxton,  a  classmate  of 
Will's,  whom  I  have  never  met.  I  believe  he 
did  not  graduate  ;  his  father  failed  or  something. ' ' 

"  His  father  died,  you  mean,"  Shepleigh  inter- 
posed, "  and  he  was  obliged  to  take  his  mother 
abroad." 

"  Much  pleasanter,  I  am  sure  !  "  and  the  lady 
of  the  pretty  drawing-room  seemed  to  consider 
the  subject  exhausted. 

"  I  wonder,"  Ruth  speculated,  "  whether  I 
don't  know  Mr.  Truxton.  I  met  a  man  of  that 
name  at  my  friend  Mrs.  O'Toole's  a  few  weeks 


A  Pleasant  Dinner  103 

ago.  Mrs.  O'Toole  thinks  very  highly  of  him, 
by  the  way. ' ' 

' '  Then  your  Mr.  Truxton  is  a  slummer, ' '  Mrs. 
Shepleigh  exclaimed  ;  "  I  hope  it 's  not  the  same 
one.  Ah,  there  is  a  strange  man  taking  off  his 
coat  in  the  hall  mirror.  You  did  not  tell  me  he 
was  nice-looking,  Will." 

"  You  must  not  expect  me  to  tell  you  every- 
thing, my  dear,"  Shepleigh  retorted,  with  a 
marital  sententiousness  which  imposed  upon  no- 
body ;  and  a  moment  later  Truxton  entered  the 
room  in  the  wake  of  a  young  woman  in  red,  with 
a  husband  of  the  same  general  complexion. 

"  Then  you  do  slum  !  "  the  hostess  lamented, 
as  Ruth  and  Truxton  gave  signs  of  recognition. 
"It  is  a  perfect  epidemic  among  the  girls,  but 
with  men  one  is  less  on  one's  guard." 

"  But,  indeed,  Mrs.  Shepleigh,  you  do  me  a 
cruel  injustice,"  Truxton  protested;  "I  never 
did  such  a  thing  in  my  life.  Who  is  my  de- 
famer  ?  ' ' 

' '  Miss  Ware.  At  least  she  tells  me  that  you 
first  met  at  her  friend  Mrs.  O'Toole's  ;  and  you 
will  admit  that  the  name  is  suspicious. ' ' 

' '  But,  indeed,  it  was  Miss  Ware  who  was  slum- 
ming, not  I.  I  was  merely  grinding  the  faces  of 
the  poor.  The  lady,  besides  being  one  of  my 
most  valued  acquaintances,  is  a  tenant  of  my 
aunt's,  and  I  was  in  the  act  of  wresting  from  her 
a  two-dollar  bill.  You  surely  can't  take  excep- 
tion to  that  !  ' ' 


IO4  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

"  This  is  a  great  relief  to  my  mind,"  Mrs. 
Shepleigk  admitted,  ' '  and  I  only  hope  Miss 
Ware  will  be  able  to  make  her  peace  with  you, 
for  you  are  to  take  her  in  to  dinner." 

"  It  all  seems  like  a  fairy  tale,"  Truxton  ex- 
claimed, as  he  found  himself  established  beside 
Ruth  in  that  permanency  of  possession  which 
only  a  formal  dinner  can  bestow.  "  I  don't  see 
what  my  fair}'  godmother  was  thinking  of,  not 
to  provide  me  with  a  pair  of  glass  slippers." 

"  No  prince  would  ever  submit  to  anything  so 
uncomfortable,"  was  Ruth's  sagacious  rejoin- 
der ;  "  and  apropos  of  fairy  godmothers,  how  is 
Flynn  ?  " 

"  Flynn  has  a  cold,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  He  told 
us  to-day  that  he  was  threatened  with  some  sort 
of  '  brown  craturs  in  the  tubes  of  him,'  and  we 
really  feel  anxious  about  the  old  fellow." 

"  You  could  hardly  spare  him  for  a  fit  of  ill- 
ness, I  should  think." 

"  Indeed,  no  ;  he  is  the  Hamlet  of  the  play, 
and  we  stuff  him  with  wise  saws,  so  that  he  can 
do  justice  to  the  part.  You  should  have  heard 
him  yesterday  afternoon,  struggling  with  the 
proposition  that  '  procrastination  is  the  thief  of 
time.'  " 

"  I  don't  wonder  that '  the  tubes  of  him '  got 
disordered,"  Ruth  laughed. 

"  Oh,  he  got  procrastination  easily  enough — 
the  longer  a  word  is  the  better  he  likes  it.  But 
he  could  n't  seem  to  establish  any  connection  in 


A  Pleasant  Dinner  105 

his  mind  between  thieves  and  time.  '  A  common 
thafe  is  it,  thin  ?  '  he  inquired.  I  heard  our  pay- 
ing-teller drilling  him  at  it.  It  took  half  the  after- 
noon." 

' '  Yours  must  be  '  a  bank  where  the  wild  thyme 
blows,'  "  Ruth  opined,  as  she  added  a  dash  of 
pepper  to  her  last  oyster. 

"  Then  that  herb  of  grace  must  be  a  four- 
o'clock,"  Truxton  retorted,  promptly,  "  for  it 
rarely  blooms  before  that  hour  ! ' '  and,  as  he 
spoke,  he  was  visited  by  a  reminiscence  of  another 
bit  of  Shakespeare,  one  which  his  father  had 
been  fond  of  quoting  :  "  She  was  the  sweet 
marjoram  of  the  salad,  or,  rather,- the  herb  of 
grace."  Was  it  possible  that  that  spicy,  aro- 
matic phrase  had  been  applicable  to  any  girl 
of  Shakespeare's  day  ?  Truxton  was  inclined  to 
think  that  it  had  been  composed  in  a  strictly 
prophetic  vein. 

"  There  certainly  must  be  something  Shakes- 
pearian about  Flynn,"  Ruth  declared.  "And 
do  the  wise  saws  stay  in  his  memory  ?  ' ' 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  they  are  his  stock  in  trade.  He 
practises  each  upon  us  until  it  is  superseded  by  a 
new  one.  After  he  had  laboriously  mastered  the 
thief-of-time  proposition  he  sauntered  up  to  me 
and  remarked,  in  the  most  spontaneous  manner, 
'  Misther  Trooxton,  procrastination  is  the  thafe 
of  time.'  When  I  inquired  where  he  had  picked 
that  up,  he  said  he  had  known  it  from  his  infancy ! 
I  wish  you  could  have  seen  the  expression  of  his 


io6  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

face  as  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  flung  that  out- 
rageous lie  over  his  shoulder." 

"  I  do  see  it,  perfectly,"  Ruth  averred  ;  "  you 
were  the  image  of  him  as  you  said  it." 

"  If  I  could  only  believe  that  was  true  !  " 

"  Surely  you  would  not  have  a  person  speak 
the  truth  at  the  dinner-table,"  a  voice  broke  in 
on  Truxton's  right.  "  It  's  against  all  rules." 

As  he  turned  to  reply  he  was  aware  that  Ruth 
was  appropriated  by  her  other  neighbor,  and  he 
accepted,  philosophically  enough,  such  consola- 
tion as  offered  in  the  twinkling  personality  that 
claimed  his  attention.  Miss  Daisy  Foxborough 
was  of  the  gypsy  type,  with  dark,  woodsy  hair 
and  a  clear  brown  complexion.  There  was  a 
sparkle  in  the  black  eyes,  and  it  was  in  response 
to  that  that  Truxton  said,  ' '  What  have  rules  to 
do  with  a  lark  like  this  ?  " 

' '  Is  this  a  lark  to  you  ?  ' ' 

1 '  Of  course  it  is  ;  but  perhaps  you  can  suggest 
a  better  name  for  it." 

"  If  I  were  to  speak  the  truth " 

"  But  you  must  n't." 

"  Well,  then,  if  I  were  to  tell  a  lie " 

"  That  is  only  the  reverse  side  of  the  same 
thing." 

' '  Mr.  Dole,  help  me  out  !  You  have  views  on 
truth,"  and  the  gypsy  twinkled  across  the  table 
in  search  of  an  ally. 

"  Truth,"  replied  Harkness  Dole,  a  man  of  a 
thin,  high-bred  countenance,  with  tense  brow  and 


A  Pleasant  Dinner  107 

a  carefully  trimmed  beard,  "  truth  is  a  relic  of 
barbarism.  It  is  because  we  are  only  half  civilized 
that  we  do  not  emancipate  ourselves  faster. ' ' 

' '  Why  should  we  suppose  that  barbarians  speak 
the  truth  ? ' '  his  right-hand  neighbor  inquired. 
She  was  an  incisive  young  woman  in  black  lace. 

"It  is  an  established  fact  that  they  do,: — at 
least  in  their  actions,  which  is  the  main  thing. 
If  they  don't  fancy  a  man  they  knock  out  his 
brains.  Now,  if  we  don't  fancy  a  man,  we  invite 
him  to  dine. ' ' 

"  No,  we  don't  !  "  cried  Shepleigh.;  and  then 
he  grinned  with  pleasure,  as  he  found  he  had 
accidentally  said  the  right  thing. 

"  Oh,  you  are  nothing  but  a  barbarian  yourself, 
Shepleigh.  You  would  make  a  worse  botch  of 
that  particular  form  of  civilization  than  the  rest 
of  us  do.  For  of  course,"  Dole  continued,  ad- 
dressing his  remarks  once  more  to  Miss  Daisy, — 
"  of  course  a  lie  that  deceives  no  one  is  a  worse 
barbarism  than  the  truth  ;  and  that  is  the  diffi- 
culty with  us  who  are  half-civilized." 

"  I  never  spoke  the  truth  but  once,"  Mrs. 
Shepleigh  remarked,  in  a  confidential  aside  to 
Ruth's  other  neighbor  ;  "  and  that  was  when  my 
mother  asked  me  whether  I  liked  Will." 

"  And  what  did  you  say  ?  "  Shepleigh  inquired, 
from  the  other  end  of  the  table.  He  was  always 
betraying  that  he  heard  every  word  his  wife  said. 

"  I  said  I  did  n't  know." 

A  ripple  of  laughter  rose  at  this  sedate  sally, 


io8  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

and,  as  it  subsided,  Truxton  found,  to  his  satisfac- 
tion, that  Ruth  was  restored  to  him.  He  made 
haste  to  say  the  first  thing  that  came  into  his 
head. 

' '  I  suppose  it  is  safe  to  assume, ' '  he  remarked, 
gravely,  "  that  these  forks  are  arranged  in  the 
order  in  which  they  are  to  be  used." 

' '  I  believe  they  are, ' '  said  Ruth  ;  ' '  but  woe  to 
you  if  you  begin  at  the  wrong  end,  as  I  have 
been  known  to  do.  I  once  found  myself  eating 
duck  with  an  oyster-fork." 

"Then  one  survives  that  sort  of  thing?  I 
did  n't  know  but  that  a  person  got  sent  to  the 
tower  if  he  slipped  up  on  the  frills." 

"  No,  indeed;  nobody  ever  minds  other  people's 
blunders.  It  is  only  our  own  that  worry  us. ' ' 

"  I  believe  that  is  the  truth,"  Truxton  ex- 
claimed, with  conviction.  "  And  at  a  dinner- 
table  too  !  " 

"  I  rather  like  to  speak  the  truth,"  Ruth  boldly 
declared.  "  It  makes  conversation  a  great  deal 
more  interesting — and  unusual  !  " 

' '  My  father  used  to  be  fond  of  quoting  an  old 
German  chap — Schopenhauer,  was  n't  it  ? — who 
said  that  tongues  could  lie,  but  faces  could  n't. 
I  believe  he  was  an  ill-natured  old  growler,  but  I 
remember  one  other  good  thing  he  said  in  that 
connection — that  a  man's  words,  at  the  best,  ex- 
press nothing  more  than  a  man's  thoughts,  but 
that  a  man's  face  is  a  thought  of  the  Creator,  and 
is  consequently  better  worth  studying." 


A  Pleasant  Dinner  109 

"  I  like  that,"  said  Ruth,  reflectively  ;  "  I 
know  one  or  two  faces  that  are  like  a  thought  of 
God  ' ' ;  and  her  companion  would  have  been  very 
slow-witted  if  he  had  not  made  mental  note  of  the 
fact  that  he  knew  at  least  one  such  face. 

Truxton,  meanwhile,  was  fast  coining  to  the 
conclusion  that  a  dinner-party  was  the  most  de- 
lectable of  functions.  He  felt  as  if  he  had  strayed 
into  a  sort  of  fairy-land  of  soft  hues  and  scents, 
of  flowers  and  candle-light  and  delicate  textures  ; 
and  he  found  himself  surprisingly  at  home  in  it. 
He  liked  the  careless  ease  of  a  conversation  in 
which  it  was  no  less  natural  to  take  part  than  it 
was  permissible  to  keep  silence.  Above  all,  he 
liked  to  have  Ruth  speak  to  him  with  that  friendly 
assumption  of  good  understanding,  and  to  think 
that  perhaps  he  should  often  hear  her  speak,  now 
that  their  acquaintance  was  established  on  a 
legitimate  footing.  What  a  pleasant  thought  of 
the  Creator  this  was,  this  face  beside  him,  that 
had  first  touched  his  imagination  amid  the  strong 
contrasts  of  the  workaday  world  !  He  thought 
it  seemed  hardly  less  rare,  hardly  less  apart  here 
among  the  flower  of  its  kind. 

The  tide  of  conversation  had  set  toward  the  two 
ends,  of  the  table,  leaving  Truxton  free  to  pursue 
his  own  very  agreeable  thoughts.  Presently 
Ruth,  noticing  his  stranded  condition,  detached 
herself  from  the  talk  beyond  and  asked,  with 
more  friendliness  than  originality,  "  Is  it  a  penny 
that  you  want  ?  ' ' 


no  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

"  If  that  is  as  much  as  you  would  feel  justified 
in  offering." 

"  Perhaps  we  might  make  it  a  lucky- penny." 

"  There  it  is  again,"  Truxton  heard  someone 
say  ;  ' '  even  Miss  Ware  has  one  !  ' ' 

"  Miss  Ware  has  what  ?  "  Ruth  inquired. 

It  was  Harkness  Dole  who  had  spoken,  and 
although  his  remark  had  been  addressed  to  Miss 
Belle  Duncan,  the  lady  in  black  lace,  it  had 
caught  Ruth's  ear,  as  he  had  obviously  intended 
that  it  should.  Truxton  had  already  noted  the 
fact  that  this  man,  who  never  raised  his  voice, 
nor  otherwise  challenged  attention,  had  the  gift 
of  commanding  a  hearing  when  it  so  pleased  him. 
In  fact,  this  was  the  second  time  that  he  had, 
without  apparent  effort,  cut  across  Truxton 's  talk 
with  Ruth. 

"  Mr.  Dole  maintains  that  we  all  have  our 
superstitions,"  Miss  Duncan  explained;  "  and  I 
maintain  the  contrary. ' ' 

"  What 's  your  proof?  "  asked  Henry  Lawson, 
a  ponderous  youth,  of  a  literal  turn  of  mind, 
who  had  but  recently  become  an  ornament  to 
the  bar. 

"  My  proof  is,  that  I,  for  one,  have  no  super- 
stitions whatever. ' ' 

"  That,  in  itself,  is  a  superstition,"  Dole  in- 
terposed. 

' '  Then  we  shall  have  to  begin  by  defining  our 
term,"  was  the  retort. 

"  That  's  another  superstition,"  Dole  insisted. 


A  Pleasant  Dinner  1 1 1 

It  was  evidently  not  his  first  fencing  match  with 
Miss  Duncan,  but  though  she  did  not  often  suc- 
ceed in  turning  his  point,  she  clearly  enjoyed  the 
pastime. 

"  But  Miss  Ware  has  not  told  us  yet  whether 
she  is  superstitious,"  Shepleigh  remarked,  glad 
to  take  a  hand  in  the  general  conversation.  The 
lady  in  red  had  been  plying  him  rather  severely 
on  the  subject  of  interstate  commerce  laws. 

' '  Oh,  yes, ' '  Ruth  declared,  with  great  apparent 
ingenuousness  ;  "I  have  ever  so  many  super- 
stitions." 

"  But  you  don't  seriously  believe  in  them," 
Miss  Duncan  protested. 

"  Indeed  I  do!" 

"  What  are  your  grounds  ?  "  asked  I^awson. 

' '  They  always  come  true. ' ' 

"  Please  give  us  an  instance,"  someone  begged. 

"  Well,  in  the  first  place,  there 's  the  new  moon. 
When  I  see  it  over  my  right  shoulder  I  always 
have  good  luck." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  remember,"  Miss 
Duncan  objected,  only  half  convinced. 

' '  I  never  do, ' '  Ruth  returned ,  demurely.  ' '  But 
when  I  have  good  luck,  I  know  I  must  have  seen 
it  over  my  right  shoulder,  and  when ' ' 

"  Oh,  come  !  That 's  a  sell  !  "  cried  the  young 
lawyer,  forgetting,  for  an  instant,  his  newly 
acquired  dignities  ;  and  under  cover  of  a  general 
murmur  of  amused  protest  Ruth  made  good  her 
retreat  to  private  life. 


1 1 2  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

"You  did  that  well,"  said  Truxton,  deeply 
grateful  to  Ruth  for  coming  back  to  him. 

"  Thanks.  And  now,  are  you  going  to  earn 
your  penny  ?  ' ' 

Ruth  had  the  not  very  common  gift  of  picking 
up  a  thread  where  it  had  been  dropped. 

"  Oh,  the  penny  !  Well,  I  was  taking  things 
in.  This  is  a  new  experience  for  me." 

"Is  it  really  so  new?"  she  asked,  incredu- 
lously, for  Truxton  did  not  impress  her  as  a 
beginner. 

"  Yes,  and  no  ;  in  one  aspect  it  is  curiously  like 
a  glorified  table  d'hote.  That  is  the  nearest  I  ever 
came  to  a  dinner-party  before." 

' '  And  how  do  you  like  it  ?  " 

"  Better  than  I  expected." 

' '  I  wonder  what  you  expected. ' ' 

' '  I  believe  I  had  a  notion  that  it  might  seem — 
what  shall  I  say — hollow.  I  suppose  I  must  have 
read  something  of  the  kind  in  a  book  !  "  This 
in  a  tone  which  betrayed  small  respect  for  printed 
information. 

"  No,  we  are  certainly  not  hollow.  I  know 
most  of  us  really  well,  and  we  are  pretty 
pithy." 

"So  it  struck  me.  The  fact  is,  I  have  been 
seeing  a  good  deal  lately  of  people  who  were 
queer  or  poor  or  vicious,  and  I  think  I  had  an 
idea  that  such  an  eminently  respectable  company 
as  this  might  seem  all  of  a  pattern.  But  I  find 
it  's  not  the  case." 


A  Pleasant  Dinner  1 1 3 

"  I  don't  know  whether  the  discovery  does 
more  credit  to  your  head  or  to  your  heart, ' '  Ruth 
jested.  "  But,  seriously,  I  rather  wonder  at  your 
finding  anything  in  us  on  such  short  acquaint- 
ance. ' ' 

There  was  no  coquetry  in  the  remark,  and  it 
may  be  as  well  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it  at  this 
point  and  admit  that  Ruth  was  singularly  devoid 
of  that  much  admired  quality.  Humor  she  had 
and  charm,  and  a  certain  lightness  of  touch  in 
things  of  the  mind,  but  at  heart  she  was  too 
straightforward  to  possess  much  aptitude  for  the 
game  which  is  so  often  associated  with  these 
graces.  And  if  Ruth's  little  speech  was  innocent 
of  any  personal  tinge,  her  companion  was  equally 
guiltless  of  suspecting  any. 

"  Perhaps  Schopenhauer  was  my  instructor," 
he  replied,  in  perfect  good  faith.  "  I  don't  think 
I  was  going  so  much  by  what  people  said  as, 
somehow,  by  the  impression  they  made,  apart 
from  their  conversation." 

"  Of  course  ;  one  has  to  do  that.  The  better 
people  talk,  as  a  rule,  the  less  they  betray  them- 
selves. ' ' 

' '  I  wish  I  could  look  about  the  table  with  your 
eyes,"  said  Truxton,  enviously. 

"It  's  a  pity  you  can't  for  I  assure  you  we 
are  very  much  worth  while,"  she  laughed. 
"  But,  seriously,  there  is  hardly  a  single  person 
here  who  is  not  really  interesting,  either  in  what 
he  is,  or  in  what  has  happened  to  him." 


1 14  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

"  Which  of  the  two  is  the  case  with  our  theo- 
retical friend  ?  "  Truxton  asked,  glancing  across 
at  Harkness  Dole,  who  was  taking  his  turn  at 
serious  conversation  at  the  hands  of  the  lady  in 
red. 

"  Both." 

"  Tell  me  about  him." 

"  Don't  you  know  about  him  ?  " 

' '  No  ;  why  should  I  ?  " 

"  Well,  he  is  a  good  deal  before  the  public. 
He  is  in  politics,  you  know,  and,  '  by  the  way,  a 
relative  of  mine,'  as  the  little  cat  remarks  in  Art- 
ful Antics." 

"  That  's  a  comfort,"  Truxton  laughed,  "  for 
now  I  'm  equipped  with  one  fact,  and  I  'm  sure," 
he  added,  with  exaggerated  ceremony,  "it  's 
highly  creditable  to  him  !  The  truth  is,  Miss 
Ware,"  he  went  on,  "I  'm  a  dreadful  dough- 
head  about  politics.  I  know  your  '  relative '  by 
na.me,  of  course,  and  I  have  a  general  impression 
that  he  is  a  kind  of  white  robin.  But  that  is 
about  the  limit  of  my  information." 

"  It  's  accurate,  at  least,"  she  laughed  ;  "for 
he  really  is  a  good  deal  of  a  white  robin.  That 
is  why  I  am  so  conceited  about  his  being  my 
cousin. ' ' 

"  It  almost  seems,"  said  Truxton,  dismissing 
the  particular  instance,  the  consideration  of  which 
had  somehow  gone  against  the  grain  with  him, 
— "  it  almost  seems  as  if  you  believed  that  these 
well-dressed,  well-behaved  people  were  more 


A  Pleasant  Dinner  1 1 5 

worth  while  than  the  paddy- whacks  and  Dagos 
you  are  so  devoted  to." 

"  I  do  indeed,"  Ruth  answered,  with  sudden 
earnestness  ;  "  and  I  believe  that  life  is  more 
difficult  to  them.  I  even  think  there  is  more  suf- 
ering  in  their  lives,  and  a  great  deal  more  effort. 
However, ' '  she  added,  recovering  the  tone  proper 
to  the  occasion,  "  this  is  not  a  class  in  socio- 
logy; and  I  think  you  are  very  polite  not  to  make 
fun  of  me. ' ' 

"  We  were  getting  rather  solemn,"  Truxton 
admitted  ;  "  but  I  'm  afraid  I  began  it.  At  any 
rate  it  interests  me  very  much  ;  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  I  mean.  And  I  'm  greatly  obliged  to  you 
for  telling  me  what  you  have.  It  is  so  satis- 
factorily un-hollow  !  " 

"  If  you  are  inclined  to  take  it  seriously,"  Ruth 
rejoined,  ' '  I  ought  to  have  confessed  at  the  out- 
set that  I  am  not  nearly  as  much  given  over  to 
my  paddy-whacks  as  you  imagine.  Indeed,  I  'm 
afraid  they  are  a  good  deal  of  a  side  issue." 

"  I  was  beginning  to  suspect  as  much,"  Trux- 
ton answered,  with  mock  seriousness.  ' '  Do  you 
know,  Miss  Ware,  when  it  first  dawned  upon  me 
that  you  were  at  heart  a  butterfly,  my  last  illusion 
fled." 

"  But  that  is  an  illusion,  too,"  she  laughed. 
"  Things  are  a  great  deal  too  complicated  for  any 
of  us  to  be  ticketed  and  labelled." 

"  Any  but  the  white  robin,"  Truxton  retorted, 
as  the  ladies  rose  to  leave  the  table.  "  I  con- 


1 1 6  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

sider  that  we  have  him  in  a  glass  cabinet. ' '  He 
did  not  feel  at  all  sure  that  Ruth  had  caught  his 
remark,  but  he  took  some  satisfaction  in  having 
made  it,  perhaps  for  the  very  reason  that  it  was 
not  true  ;  that  the  white  robin  was  altogether  too 
much  alive  to  be  a  safe  inmate  for  a  glass  cabinet. 
He  was  conscious  of  a  vague  resentment  against 
the  bird  for  being  white  ! 

' '  And  how  about  that  lucky-penny  ?  ' '  Truxton 
asked,  an  hour  later,  as  he  stood  at  Miss  Ware's 
carriage  door. 

' '  Do  you  really  think  you  are  entitled  to  it  ?  " 
she  queried,  with  a  severely  judicial  frown,  which 
would  have  been  somewhat  more  impressive  with- 
out the  snowy  fluff  of  cloak  and  head-gear  that 
looked  so  pretty  in  the  light  of  a  neighboring 
street-lamp.  And  then  and  there  Truxton  fairly 
faced  the  exhilarating  fact  that  his  hour  had 
struck ! 

Nevertheless  he  rejoined,  with  a  show  of  self- 
possession  that  did  him  credit  :  "  That  is  not  a 
matter  of  opinion  ;  it  is  what  your  cousin,  Mr. 
Dole,  would  call  an  established  fact." 

' '  Then  you  shall  have  the  penny — one  of  these 
days. ' ' 

"  One  of  these  days  !  "  It  sounded  curiously 
reassuring, — as  if  there  were  to  be  many  such 
days,  many  such  evenings.  He  walked  home 
under  the  stars.  It  was  a  cold,  clear  night,  and 
the  sky  looked  very  deep  and  full  of  glorious 
possibilities. 


A  Pleasant  Dinner 


117 


"  One  of  these  days,  one  of  these  days,"  he 
kept  repeating  to  himself.  She  had  not  invited 
him  to  come  and  see  her  ;  nor  had  she  said  any- 
thing which  could  possibly  be  construed  into  such 
an  invitation.  She  had  only  assumed  that  they 
should  meet — one  of  these  days.  There  was 
absolutely  nothing  definite  to  look  fonvard  to, 
yet — how  deep  the  sky  was,  how  full  of  glorious 
possibilities  ! 


CHAPTER  IX. 

FLYNN'S  EYRIE. 

THE  ' '  brown  craturs  in  the  tubes  of  him ' ' 
would  appear  to  have  got  the  better  of 
Flynn,  for  the  sage  of  the  Pilgrim  Sav- 
ings Bank  had  not  again  turned  up.  For  two 
days  the  ' '  spinges ' '  had  been  wet  by  an  un- 
skilled hand  whose  inefficient  performance  of  the 
task  served  but  to  bring  into  stronger  relief  the 
memory  of  Flynn's  truly  artistic  methods  ;  for 
two  days  the  pudgy,  impressionable  old  ledgers 
had  had  to  submit  to  the  less  affectionate,  less 
discriminating  handling  of  the  janitor  proper, — a 
self-important  personage  who  made  no  secret  of 
his  opinion  that  Flynn  was  little  better  than  a 
cumberer  of  the  ground  ;  for  two  days  no  bor- 
rowed platitudes,  no  happy  improvisations, 
clothed  in  incomparable  brogue,  had  rejoiced  the 
ears  of  the  pilgrims.  By  the  time  the  third  day 
had  worn  to  noon  the  matter  began  to  assume  seri- 
ous proportions.  It  was  Flynn's  first  prolonged 
absence  from  duty  within  the  memory  of  man,  for 
118 


Fly  tins  Eyrie  1 1 9 

never  yet  had  he  succumbed  to  illness,  never  yet 
had  he  taken  a  vacation,  and  save  for  those  not 
infrequent  occasions  when  he  had  departed, 
wrapped  in  gloom,  to  honor  the  last  obsequies  of 
friend  or  kinsman,  his  figure  had  been  as  con- 
stant as  that  of  the  clock  on  the  wall. 

"  Seems  queer  not  to  see  Flynn  round," 
Judson  remarked,  as  he  turned  the  leaves  of  an 
enormous  ledger  and  buckled  down  to  a  column 
of  figures.  The  methodical  Judson  was  not  one 
of  those  most  susceptible  to  Flynn's  charms  ;  yet 
he  missed  him,  and,  what  was  still  more  note- 
worthy, he  opened  his  lips  to  say  so. 

' '  Plague  take  Flynn  ! ' '  Rathbone  exclaimed, 
as  he  gave  his  sponge  a  vicious  squeeze,  sending 
a  shower  of  drops  over  Andy  Stone's  carefully 
brushed  boots.  "  He  is  n't  worth  much,  but  he 
does  know  how  to  handle  a  sponge. ' ' 

"  More  than  can  be  said  for  you,  Rathbone," 
Andy  growled. 

"  It  is  n't  my  business,"  Rathbone  retorted. 

"  Then  I  'd  let  it  alone,  my  son  !  " — upon 
which,  Rathbone' s  attention  being  opportunely 
diverted  by  a  would-be  depositor,  Stone  calmly 
withdrew  the  receiving-teller's  handkerchief  from 
his  unconscious  pocket,  and,  having  carefully 
dried  his  aggrieved  boots  with  it,  returned  it, 
slightly  besmudged,  to  its  natural  retreat. 

Yes,  they  all  missed  Flynn.  Even  Rand,  the 
chief  clerk,  came  down  from  the  front  office  to 
inquire  if  anything  had  been  heard  from  him, 


1 20  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

and  when  the  treasurer  himself  learned  of  the 
unprecedented  defection  of  this  humblest  of  all 
the  servants  of  the  institution,  he  made  quite 
particular  inquiries  and  said:  "Somebody  had 
better  look  him  up."  Indeed,  there  is  little 
doubt  that  if  open  war  could  have  been  declared 
upon  the  "  brown  craturs,"  every  man  of  the  force 
would  have  joined  the  expedition,  breathing  fire 
and  slaughter. 

The  chief  difficulty  lay  in  Flynn's  pronounced 
aversion  to  having  his  privacy  invaded.  The 
street  and  number  of  his  residence  were  recorded 
on  the  books  of  the  bank,  but  he  had  dexterously 
parried  all  advances  looking  to  a  domiciliary 
visitation,  and,  with  all  the  guying  of  him  which 
they  permitted  themselves,  the  men  had,  at  bot- 
tom, too  much  respect  for  the  old  fellow  to  intrude 
upon  him  against  his  expressed  preference. 

It  was  known  that  he  had  lost  his  wife  and 
baby  soon  after  coming  to  the  bank,  and  that  he 
had  not  married  again.  His  address  had  not 
changed  in  all  those  years,  so  that  he  had  pre- 
sumably continued  the  mode  of  life  dating  from 
his  marriage  ;  but  whether  he  had  anyone  to  look 
after  him  and  give  him  his  meals,  or  whether  he 
foraged  for  himself,  was  a  question  shrouded  in 
mystery. 

Truxton,  who  had  decided  to  adopt  Saturday 
evening  for  the  collection  of  Mrs.  Hitchcock's 
rents,  was  so  haunted  by  thoughts  of  his  old 
friend,  as  he  groped  his  way  up  and  down  the 


Flynris  Eyrie  1 2 1 

dimly  lighted  stairways  of  the  Launcelot  Avenue 
block,  that  he  determined  to  brave  the  displeasure 
of  the  jealous  householder  and  find  out  just  how 
things  were  going  with  him.  He  had  that  morn- 
ing looked  up  the  address,  which  proved  to  be 
ominously  near  the  unsavory  thoroughfare  with 
which  Mrs.  Hitchcock's  business  interests  had 
familiarized  him. 

Wondering  very  much  why  an  acknowledged 
capitalist  like  Flynn  should  not  allow  himself 
more  desirable  quarters,  Truxton  made  his  way 
to  the  ding}'  old  barracks  where  the  pilgrim  sage 
housed.  It  was  a  large  and  many-windowed  edi- 
fice of  decent  brick,  with  five  main  entrances, 
flush  with  the  sidewalk.  As  Truxtoii  opened 
the  door  of  No.  41  he  encountered  a  damp  chill 
that  was  far  more  penetrating  than  the  frosty  air 
outside.  He  knocked  at  the  first  door  on  the 
right  which,  after  some  delay,  was  opened  by  a 
girl  of  ten,  with  pinched  features  and  precocious 
eyes. 

' '  Can  you  tell  me  where  Barney  Flynn  lives  ?  ' ' 
he  asked,  lifting  his  hat  to  the  small  woman  who, 
in  some  occult  manner,  impressed  him  as  a  per- 
sonage. 

"  Third  floor  above  this.  Guess  he  's  away  ; 
ain't  seen  him  since  two,  three  days." 

"  Thank  you." 

' '  Say,  mister,  be  you  a  missionary  ?  ' '  the  child 
inquired,  as  Truxton  turned  to  go. 

"  No,  I  'm  not ;  why  do  you  ask  ?  " 


122  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

"  I  thought  p'r'aps  you  'd  come  in  and  pray 
with  pa.  He  's  drunk,  and  when  he  's  drunk  he 
cries  easy  an'  sometimes  he  signs  the  pledge." 

This  startling  request  was  accompanied  by  such 
an  earnest,  supplicating  look,  that  Truxton, 
muttering,  "  Sorry  I  can't  fill  the  bill,"  beat  a 
hasty  retreat  lest  he  should  be  constrained  by 
those  remarkable  eyes  to  assume  the  alarming 
role  imputed  to  him.  His  progress  was  not  with- 
out its  perils,  for  the  stairs  and  balustrades  were 
shockingly  out  of  repair,  and  an  unwary  step 
might  have  disastrous  results. 

Arrived  at  the  top  of  the  house,  he  groped  his 
way  along  the  passageway  to  the  door  which  had 
been  indicated  to  him.  There  was  no  answer  to 
his  knock,  but,  as  he  turned  the  handle,  the  door 
opened,  to  his  infinite  relief,  and  he  found  him- 
self in  a  fairly  large,  square  room,  across  which 
the  rays  from  an  electric  street-light  cast  a 
spectral  radiance.  The  room  was  bitterly  cold. 

Truxton  drew  a  match  from  his  pocket  and 
lighted  a  lamp  which  he  discovered  on  a  high 
bureau  between  the  windows.  Almost  at  once 
he  heard  a  feeble  voice  call,  "  Katie,  Katie  ;  are 
ye  there,  darlin'  ?  " 

With  a  stricture  of  the  heart  Truxton  picked 
up  the  lamp  and,  shading  the  light  with  his  hand, 
stepped  into  the  adjoining  room.  There,  in  a 
huge  four-poster,  piled  high  with  obliterating 
comforters,  the  face  of  the  delinquent  sage  was 
just  visible,  looking  curiously  small  and  shrunken, 


Flynris  Eyrie  123 

in  spite  of  the  outcrop  of  beard  which  was  begin- 
ning to  bristle  about  the  chin. 

"  An'  is  it  yoursilf,  darlin'  ?  "  the  feeble  old 
voice  inquired. 

Truxton  placed  the  lamp  on  the  floor  at  the  foot 
of  the  bed  before  speaking.  Then  he  stepped  to 
the  bedside  and  took  the  old  man's  hand  in  his, 
saying,  "It  's  I, — Truxton.  Don't  you  know 
me,  Flynn  ?  " 

The  patient  did  not  return  the  pressure  of  the 
hand,  but  he  began  blinking  and  muttering, 
gradually  feeling  his  way  back  to  consciousness. 
The  sound  of  Truxton's  voice  seemed  to  call  into 
his  face  a  ghost  of  the  old  kindly  and  tolerant 
humor  that  was  curious  to  see,  and  gradually  his 
mutterings,  though  still  inarticulate,  took  on 
something  of  the  rising  and  falling  inflection 
peculiar  to  his  speech.  Somewhat  reassured, 
Truxton  turned  his  attention  to  practical  matters. 

There  was  no  direct  means  of  heating  the  little 
bedroom,  but  in  the  neat  kitchen  beyond  he 
found  a  large  cooking-stove,  and  a  good  supply 
of  fuel.  Also  the  larder  was  well  filled,  showing, 
among  other  delicacies,  a  boiled  ham,  still  intact, 
stuck  full  of  cloves,  the  ornate  arrangement  of 
which  testified  to  the  artistic  leanings  of  Flynn's 
chosen  caterer.  A  jug  full  of  milk,  flaked  over 
with  frost  in  this  cold  storage,  was  presumably 
sweet,  and  there  was  plenty  of  tea  and  sugar. 
All  these  things  and  more  besides  were  carefully 
arranged  upon  the  shelves  of  a  narrow  cupboard, 


124  ®ne  °f  th-c  Pilgrims 

and,  even  in  his  haste  and  anxiety,  Truxton  was 
struck  by  the  order  and  the  scrupulous  neatness 
of  the  little  establishment.  It  was  difficult  to  be- 
lieve that  all  this  comfort  and  decorum  existed 
beneath  the  roof  of  a  neglected  tenement-house, 
and  it  was  still  more  incredible  as  the  creation  of 
a  single  unaided  man. 

When  the  fire  was  well  ablaze,  and  the  kettle 
on,  Truxton,  not  without  a  self-congratulatory 
surprise  at  his  own  prowess,  returned  to  the  bed- 
side. The  blinking  and  muttering  had  subsided, 
and  Flynn  greeted  him  with  a  grunt  of  full  in- 
telligence. 

"  Well  now,  Misther  Trooxton,"  he  remarked 
in  a  tone  of  assumed  indifference,  "  have  yez 
nothing  betther  to  do  wid  yoursilf  than  that  ?  ' ' 

"  Not  a  thing,  Flynn,"  Truxton  answered, 
wishing  that  he  dared  lay  profane  hands  upon  the 
old  man's  person,  for  the  purpose  of  straightening 
out  the  bed-clothes  and  knocking  up  the  pillows. 
But  there  is  a  limit  beyond  which  only  the  fool- 
hardy will  venture,  and  Truxton,  on  this  occa- 
sion, elected  to  cultivate  that  better  part  of  valor 
which  is  tacitly  recommended  in  the  old  proverb. 
This,  however,  did  not  prevent  his  assuming  a 
valiant  air  of  nonchalance  as  he  said  :  ' '  In  about 
ten  minutes  you  're  to  have  a  cup  of  tea  and  give 
an  account  of  yourself. ' ' 

"  An'  if  ye  takes  my  advice,  Misther  Trooxton, 
ye  '11  go  home  !  " 

"  But  I  have  n't  the  least  idea  of  taking  your 


Flynris  Eyrie  125 

advice,"  Truxton  replied,  as  jauntily  as  might 
be.  Then,  drawing  up  a  cane-bottom  chair,  and 
establishing  himself  upon  it,  he  opened  fire  in 
good  earnest. 

"  Flynn,"  he  demanded,  "  where  's  your  doc- 
tor? " 

' '  How  do  I  know  that  ?  ' ' 

"  Have  you  seen  him  lately  ?  " 

' '  Seen  him  ?  ' ' 

"  Yes  ;  have  you  seen  him  to-day  ?  " 

"  An'  how  should  I  be  afther  seein'  him,  an' 
me  layin'  here  stuck  fast  in  me  bed  like  a  pig  in 
a  bog  ? ' ' 

"  Who  is  your  doctor,  Flynn  ?  " 

But  Flynn  had  exhausted  either  his  strength  or 
his  patience,  and,  closing  his  eyes,  he  lay  still  as 
a  graven  image. 

Now  Truxton  had  inherited  something  of  that 
native  sconce  which  no  training  can  give,  the  pos- 
session of  which  had  formed  an  invaluable  feature 
of  his  father's  professional  equipment,  and,  after 
watching  the  non-committal  old  face  intently  for  a 
few  minutes,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  there 
was  nothing  very  serious  the  matter  here.  The 
patient  was  not  coughing,  and  his  voice,  though 
hoarse,  was  not  much  worse  than  it  had  been 
when  he  first  made  mention  of  the  "  brown 
craturs."  In  short,  the  self-constituted  attendant 
was  inclined  to  believe  that  by  one  of  those 
miracles  that  are  daily  performed  in  behalf  of  the 
poor  and  the  ignorant,  the  bronchitis  had  been 


126  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

averted,  and  that  the  old  man  was  simply  en- 
feebled by  cold  and  hunger.  The  adoption  of  his 
own  diagnosis  greatly  simplified  the  treatment  of 
the  case — a  fact  which  any  skilled  practitioner 
will  find  it  easy  to  credit  ! 

Accordingly,  when  the  tea-kettle  had  begun  to 
hum,  Truxton,  still  greatly  pleased  with  himself, 
prepared  a  cup  of  tea  and  proceeded  to  administer 
it  with  a  quasi-professional  zeal  that  was  not  to 
be  withstood.  He  got  his  patient  propped  up  in 
bed  and  wrapped  about  with  a  big  comforter,  and 
the  tea  was  straightway  imbibed,  though  with 
many  a  protesting  grunt.  The  result  was  so  far 
a  success  that,  by  the  time  a  second  cup  of  that 
innocent  beverage  had  disappeared  whither  good 
tea  goes,  the  old  man  was  sufficiently  revived  to 
put  in  a  demand,  on  his  own  account,  for  more 
solid  food. 

With  some  slight  misgivings  Truxton  suggested 
ham,  and  the  avidity  with  which  several  slices  of 
that  succulent  viand  were  consumed  carried  with 
it  something  so  reassuring  that  a  hint  as  to  a 
' '  coople  av  apples  ' '  that  would  bear  baking  was 
blindly  followed. 

Pending  the  preparation  of  these  last,  Flynn 
settled  back  among  the  pillows,  and  presently  an 
unearthly  trumpeting,  broken  into  curious  stac- 
catos and  falsettos,  proclaimed  that  the  old  man 
was  at  peace  with  the  world  and,  by  inference, 
with  his  own  internal  organism. 

Truxton,  still  further  reassured,  picked  up  the 


Flynris  Eyrie  \  2  7 

lamp  and  strolled  into  the  front  room.  It  was 
still  very  cold  in  there,  but  the  room  had  a  cheer- 
ful aspect.  In  the  two  windows  were  well-worn 
curtains  of  turkey-red — a  fabric  which  preserves 
its  brave  aspect,  even  in  its  declining  years — 
while  the  upholstery  of  chairs  and  sofas  was  done 
in  bright  Brussels  carpeting. 

On  the  wall  above  the  sofa  hung  a  life-size 
photograph  of  a  girlish  head.  It  was  apparently 
enlarged  from  a  tintype  or  some  such  trifling  form 
of  portraiture,  and  there  were  those  curious  lapses 
in  the  impression  which  frequently  occur  where  a 
portrait — or  a  personality — has  been  forced  too 
far  beyond  its  natural  limitations.  Yet,  none  the 
less,  the  character  of  the  face  was  preserved,  and 
Truxton  knew  well  that  the  pretty,  sentimental 
eyes,  the  long,  sentimental  curls,  no  less  than  the 
short  upper  lip  and  the  piquant  nose,  were  the 
very  features  of  ' '  Katie. ' ' 

Under  the  picture  was  a  small  wooden  bracket 
screwed  against  the  wall,  and,  in  a  blue  glass 
vase  upon  it,  a  few  fading  flowers  hung  their 
heads.  It  would  have  been  a  dull  mind  that  had 
missed  the  little  romance  of  the  old  tenement, 
and,  as  Truxton  turned  from  the  contemplation 
of  the  picture,  he  stepped  more  softly  than  the 
patient's  physical  condition  would  have  seemed 
to  demand. 

And  if,  a  half-hour  later,  when  the  baked  apples 
had  followed  the  tea  and  the  ham  upon  their 
consoling  pilgrimage, — for  Flynn  had  promptly 


1 28  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

waked  in  response  to  the  pungent  odor  of  the 
crisping  skins — if  Truxton  then  went  forth  to 
the  nearest  drug-store  and  sent  a  telephone  mes- 
sage to  Miss  Vickery  announcing  his  absence  for 
the  night,  the  step  was  prompted  less  by  anxiety 
as  to  Flynn's  physical  welfare  than  by  the  wish 
to  keep  a  very  lonely  old  man  company. 

It  is  doubtful  whether  Flynn  himself  realized 
very  much  of  what  was  going  on  that  evening. 
After  the  first  excitement  of  seeing  Truxton, 
when  he  had  roused  to  something  of  his  habitual 
attitude  of  mingled  self-defence  and  toleration  of 
others,  he  had  become  comparatively  quiescent, 
and,  by  the  time  his  hearty  repast  was  quite 
finished,  he  had  settled  down  into  a  wholesome 
lethargy  which  augured  well  for  a  night's  repose. 

Truxton,  more  content  than  ever  with  the  situ- 
ation, set  himself  to  washing  up  the  dishes,  a 
function  which  was  not  without  pleasant  asso- 
ciations with  camp-life.  Indeed,  it  was  in  that 
out-of-door  school  that  he  had  acquired  the  semi- 
domestic  handiness  which  stood  him  in  such 
good  stead  on  this  widely  dissimilar  occasion. 
His  task  accomplished — with  no  less  satisfaction 
for  the  picturesque  contrasts  it  offered  —  his 
thoughts  turned  to  a  well-earned  repose,  and  he 
cast  about  for  some  available  substitute  for  a  bed. 
Attracted  by  the  structural  conformity  of  the 
carpet-covered  sofa  to  the  requirements  of  the 
human  frame,  he  confidingly  established  himself 
upon  it ;  but  he  was  not  long  in  coming  to  the 


Flynris  Eyrie  129 

conclusion  that  the  springs  of  that  deceptive 
piece  of  furniture  were  created  less  for  the  pur- 
pose of  yielding  to  pressure  than  of  resisting  it, 
and  after  five  minutes'  trial  they  became  so  in- 
cisive in  their  remonstrance  against  an  unaccus- 
tomed burden  that  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and 
sought  a  more  pliable  resting-place. 

The  warmth  of  the  kitchen  stove  was  agreeably 
suggestive,  and  he  at  last  found  complete  satis- 
faction in  three  wooden  chairs.  There  was  a 
smoothness  to  their  hard  surface  which  compared 
favorably  writh  the  eccentricities  of  the  sofa,  and 
when  at  last  he  was  comfortably  ensconced  upon 
one  of  them,  close  to  the  stove,  his  legs  spread 
over  the  remaining  ones,  he  felt  himself  in  the 
lap  of  luxury.  He  did  not  venture  to  light  a 
pipe,  lest  its  odor  should  prove  as  rousing  to  the 
patient  as  that  of  the  baking  apples,  and  before 
he  had  begun  to  think  of  sleep  he  was  dreaming 
incoherent  dreams. 

After  what  seemed  about  ten  seconds  of  time 
Truxton  was  waked  by  Flynn's  voice  in  the  ad- 
joining room.  The  lamp  had  burnt  itself  out, 
but  there  was  brilliant  moonlight  in  the  bed- 
room. The  old  man  seemed  to  be  talking  in  his 
sleep.  Truxton  leaned  over  him  and  asked  if  he 
wanted  anything.  He  could  see  in  the  moonlight 
that  the  old  eyes  opened,  but  they  closed  again 
and  the  lips  moved.  Truxton  leaned  closer  and 
listened. 

At  first  only  a  few  stray  words  were  intelligible 

9 


1 30  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

— the  name  of  Skibbereen,  of  Katie,  of  Pat,  and 
again  of  Katie.  Once  the  sweetest  smile  came 
about  the  old  lips  in  the  dim  light,  and  Trux- 
ton,  waiting  for  Katie's  name,  heard  them  say, 
' '  Granny,  darlin' !  ' '  The  mind  had  strayed  far 
afield  in  the  shadowy  regions  of  the  past. 

Truxton  drew  a  chair  close  to  the  bedside  and 
sat  for  a  while  thinking  that  the  old  man  might 
be  near  to  waking,  and  presently  there  was  a 
movement  as  if  he  had  really  roused,  and  he 
began  to  speak  quite  distinctly.  But  it  was  in 
a  tone  of  happy  reminiscence  that  he  said,  "  A. 
little  place,  a  coople  o'  miles  out,  where  the  pipers 
used  to  coom  an'  pipe." 

After  that  ensued  a  pause,  yet  the  regular  rise 
and  fall  of  the  breath  in  slumber  did  not  recom- 
mence, and  again  Truxton  heard  him  speak,  in  a 
still  more  natural  tone  of  voice. 

"  They  called  it — what  's  that  they  called  it, 
thin  ? — the  randyvoo  !  ' '  Upon  which,  with  the 
satisfaction  which  the  conquest  of  a  long  word 
never  failed  to  infuse  into  him,  the  old  man  turned 
on  his  side,  and  presently  the  regular,  heavy 
breathing,  gradually  becoming  vocal,  indicated 
that  the  patient  slept. 

For  a  long  time  Truxton  held  watch  beside  the 
bed,  while  tender  thoughts  visited  him  of  Katie, 
with  her  long  curls  and  sentimental  eyes,  thoughts 
and  imaginings  that  were  not  to  be  frightened 
away  by  any  unmelodious  sounds.  To  the  ac- 
companiment of  portentous  snores  the  light  young 


Flynris  Eyrie  1 3 1 

figure  of  long  ago  seemed  moving  about  the  quiet 
rooms.  He  could  see  her  righting  this  and  that, 
he  could  fancy  her  decking  herself  for  high-mass. 
Half- dreaming,  yet  with  the  moonlit  room  still 
visible,  he  seemed  to  see  the  pretty  figure  glide 
past  him  into  the  little  kitchen  and  bend  over  the 
stove,  and,  so  strong  was  the  impression,  that 
Truxton,  recalled  to  himself,  involuntarily  sprang 
to  his  feet  and  took  a  look  at  the  fire.  It  was 
getting  pretty  low,  and  he  replenished  it,  picking 
up  the  pieces  of  coal  between  his  fingers  and  put- 
ting them  softly,  one  by  one,  into  the  stove. 
Then  he  went  back  and  resumed  his  seat  by  the 
bedside,  and  fell  to  thinking,  not  of  Katie,  but 
of  another  young  and  comely  face  in  a  setting  of 
candle-light  and  flowers  and  soft  textures.  Yes, 
he  thought  to  himself,  the  best  things  in  life  come 
to  rich  and  poor  alike — if  they  but  come  ;  if  they 
but  come  ! 

Flynn  moved  and  spoke. 

"  A  sup  o'  wather,  darlin'  !  " 

He  drank  the  water  with  eyes  still  closed,  and 
this  time  he  returned  the  affectionate  pressure  of 
Truxton's  hand.  He  did  not  question  whose  it 
was — perhaps  he  knew,  perhaps  not.  But  one 
thing_  was  surely  plain  even  to  the  sleep-confused 
intelligence  :  it  was  a  friendly  hand  that  he  had 
hold  of ;  for  the  first  time  in  many  a  long  year 
' '  the  ould  man  ' '  was  not  alone. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A   PHENOMENA!,  CURE. 

IT  is  doubtful  whether  the  medical  profession, 
with  all  its  science  and  industry,  has  yet 
discovered  in  ham  and  baked  apples  a  sover- 
eign cure  for  bronchitis.  The  brotherhood  is 
notoriously  shy  of  domestic  remedies,  and  per- 
haps with  reason.  In  the  case  of  Flynn,  how- 
ever, this  primitive  treatment  proved  a  complete 
success,  and,  by  the  time  morning  broke,  those 
two  familiar  and  comforting  agencies,  assisted  by 
a  snug  sleep,  had  infused  through  his  enfeebled 
system  a  new  warmth  and  reviving  vigor. 

When  Truxtou  awoke  on  his  hard  couch,  with 
stiff  legs  and  a  momentarily  bewildered  mind,  the 
first  thing  he  took  note  of  was  a  strong  odor  of 
tobacco.  Glancing  through  the  open  door  into 
the  next  room  he  discovered  his  patient  sitting 
up  among  the  pillows,  in  the  grim  dawn,  tran- 
quilly smoking  a  clay  pipe.  Truxton  sprang  to 
his  feet  in  consternation  and  strode  to  the  bedside. 

"  Great  Scott,  Flynn  !  where  did  you  get  that 
132 


A  Phenomenal  Cure  133 

pipe  ? "  he  demanded,  with  the  severity  of  a 
trained  nurse  who  had  been  overreached  by  his 
patient. 

' '  I  slapes  wid  it  under  me  piller, ' '  the  culprit  re- 
plied, with  entire  suavity  and  composure.  "  It 's 
warmin'  to  the  insides,  of  a  cold  marnin'  ! ' ' 

There  was  not  a  word  of  comment  upon  Trux- 
ton's  unaccustomed  presence,  not  a  word  of 
gratitude  for  his  care.  Flynn  merely  regarded 
him  with  his  old,  kindly  indulgence,  while  he 
answered,  laconically  but  tolerantly,  such  in- 
quiries touching  his  health  as  the  self-appointed 
attendant  instituted.  Even  when  Truxton  turned 
his  attention  to  domestic  details,  and  proceeded  to 
replenish  the  fire  and  to  fill  the  tea-kettle,  the 
master  of  the  establishment  offered  no  remon- 
strance. He  only  settled  a  little  further  back 
among  the  pillows,  and  pulled  at  his  pipe  in  a 
contemplative  manner. 

Presently  the  rattle  of  milk-cans  was  heard  be- 
low, and  Truxton,  with  commendable  presence 
of  mind,  hastened  in  pursuit  of  the  passing  vendor. 
He  came  back,  flushed  with  triumph,  and  bringing 
with  him,  in  addition  to  the  milk,  a  gust  of  keen, 
frosty  air. 

Flynn  greeted  his  entrance  with  an  approving 
nod  and  remarked,  his  pipe  still  between  his  teeth, 
"  Your  honor 's  as  spry  on  your  feet  as  hersilf  !  " 

Over  and  above  this  unprecedented  use,  on 
Flynn' s  part,  of  the  courtesy  title,  the  force  of 
the  allusion  itself  was  quite  overpowering,  and 


1 34  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

Truxton  was  dumb.  He  hastily  repaired  to  the 
kitchen  where  he  deposited  the  milk  on  the  win- 
dow-sill, and  then,  returning,  and  taking  his  pipe 
from  his  pocket,  he  established  himself  at  the 
bedside  for  a  social  smoke.  The  spontaneous  as- 
sociation in  the  old  man's  mind  of  himself  and 
Ruth  had  been  curiously  gratifying,  and  Truxton 
was  conscious  of  a  sneaking  hope  that  it  might 
be  followed  up  by  something  further  in  the  same 
vein.  But  Flynn  was  too  much  of  an  artist  to 
run  a  good  thing  into  the  ground. 

They  sat  for  some  time  in  a  thickening  cloud 
of  tobacco-smoke,  while  the  tea-kettle  began  to 
hum,  and  a  democratic  sparrow  on  the  window- 
sill  chirped  as  lustily  as  if  he  had  been  privileged 
to  disturb  the  slumbers  of  the  rich.  Little  by 
little  the  neighborhood  awoke.  A  man's  and  a 
woman's  voice  rose  in  altercation  through  the 
floor  ;  a  boy  whistled  beneath  the  window.  Once 
in  a  great  while  a  cart  rumbled  by,  but  there  was 
little  traffic  in  the  streets  of  a  Sunday  morning. 

After  a  while,  seeing  that  the  old  man  had 
smoked  his  pipe  out,  and  become  more  available 
for  social  purposes,  Truxton  judged  that  the  time 
had  come  for  a  tentative  remark  regarding  the 
immediate  future  of  his  patient. 

"  Flynn,"  he  asked,  abruptly,  "  what  do  you 
say  to  letting  me  send  round  a  nice  woman  I 
know  to  look  after  you  for  a  few  days  ?  " 

"Me?  An'  a  nice  woman  ?  An'  lookin'  afther 
me?" 


A  Phenomenal  Cure  135 

No  printed  words,  indeed  no  human  speech 
save  Flynn's  own,  could  do  justice  to  the  supreme 
contempt  with  which  the  echo  of  those  three 
propositions  issued  from  the  depths  of  his  being. 

"  You  would  n't  like  it  ?  " 

"  Naw,  sir,  I  would  not !  " 

"  But  Flynn,  you  're  a  sick  man.  You  've  got 
to  be  looked  after." 

' '  A  sick  man  is  it  ?  And  what  for  should  I  be 
a  sick  man  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  've  got  bronchitis,  have  n't  you  ?  " 

"  Sure  an'  it  's  not  a  tinimint-house  that  I 
am  !  "  he  exclaimed  in  explosive  remonstrance  ; 
and  then,  thoughtfully  refilling  his  pipe,  and 
pursuing  with  much  satisfaction  the  suggestive 
metaphor  he  had  stumbled  upon,  he  added  ; 
"  Anny  ways,  I  'm  thinkin'  they  've  took  notice 
to  quit,  the  unhatherly  bastes  !  "  After  which 
highly  imaginative  flight  on  the  part  of  the  pil- 
grim sage,  the  two  friends  smoked  in  silence,  while 
Truxton  regarded  his  patient  with  a  critical  eye. 

It  was  broad  daylight  now,  and  he  was  struck 
by  the  change  in  the  old  face.  There  was  a  se- 
renity of  expression  in  it  that  was  almost  beautiful. 
The  countenance,  to  be  sure,  was  still  a  perfect 
cat's-cradle  of  wrinkles,  and  the  color  of  youth 
would  never  return  to  the  furrowed  cheeks.  Yet 
it  seemed  as  if  certain  lines  must  have  been 
softened,  or  as  if  there  had  been  a  change  in  that 
subtle  modelling  which  only  a  skilled  artist  can 
reproduce,  and  which  can  scarcely  be  defined  in 


136  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

words.  To  reduce  it  to  plain  terms,  Flynn  looked 
rested.  It  crossed  Truxton's  mind  for  the  first 
time  that  perhaps  the  old  man  had  felt  the  stress 
and  strain  of  life  ;  perhaps  even  the  handling  of 
ledgers  and  fetching  of  luncheons,  and  the  parry- 
ing of  home-thrusts  might  pall,  after  forty-odd 
years  of  unintermittent  service.  The  "  brown 
craturs  in  the  tubes  of  him ' '  had  clearly  wrought 
no  permanent  harm  ;  was  it  not  possible  that  the 
enforced  idleness  had  wrought  positive  good  ? 

"  You  do  feel  better,  don't  you,  Flynn,  hon- 
estly ?"  Truxton  asked,  in  a  tone  calculated  to 
entrap  confidence. 

"  Betther  is  it  ?  Sure  it  's  the  spinges  I  '11  be 
wettin'  to-morrer  ! ' '  and  for  a  fleeting  instant  the 
fire  of  youth  seemed  to  light  the  old  eye. 

"  We  missed  you  like  everything,  you  know," 
Truxton  continued  ;  "  everybody  was  asking 
after  you — even  Mr.  Seymour  made  inquiries." 

But  this  was  a  climax  of  improbabilities  which 
proved  too  great  a  strain  upon  the  old  man's  very 
limited  credulity,  and  he  relapsed  into  a  less  en- 
thusiastic mood.  "  That  '11  do,  that  '11  do,"  was 
the  sceptical  response. 

"  Fact  !  "  Truxton  asseverated. 

Yes,  Flynn  was  better  ;  indeed,  he  was  "  out 
of  it,"  as  Truxton  told  himself,  with  no  little 
satisfaction  ;  and  if  the  sponges  were  destined  to 
submit  yet  a  few  days  longer  to  the  manipulations 
of  an  unskilled  hand,  the  patient,  meanwhile, 
throve  and  prospered  as  a  convalescent. 


A  Phenomenal  Cure  137 

He  would  have  no  dealings  with  doctors  or 
nurses  or  hospitals,  and  Truxton  had  not  the 
heart  to  press  the  matter.  In  fact,  although  the 
latter  was  an  assiduous  visitor  and  nurse  during 
the  entire  period,  and  although  the  sense  of  in- 
timacy with  the  old  man  grew,  yet  he  could  never 
rid  himself  of  the  feeling  that  he  was  really  an  in- 
truder, and  that  it  behoved  him  to  move  circum- 
spectly. Also  there  was  a  look  as  of  the  wisdom 
of  ages  in  Flynn's  eyes,  such  as  one  sometimes 
sees  in  the  eyes  of  a  very  new  baby,  which  made 
his  "  protejay  "  feel  excessively  young  and  inex- 
perienced. 

For  a  day  or  two  Truxton  looked  in,  morning 
and  evening,  with  an  eye  to  feeding  and  warming 
and  airing  the  patient;  but  by  Monday  afternoon 
he  found  the  old  man  up  and  dressed,  and  his  bed 
made  up  with  clean  linen. 

Now  Truxton  had  gone  to  a  greenhouse  on 
Sunday,  and  got  some  pinks  and  mignonette  with 
which  he  had  surreptitiously  replaced  the  faded 
flowers  in  the  blue  glass  vase.  He  wondered 
whether  Flynn  would  comment  upon  them,  and, 
if  he  knew  better  than  to  look  for  any  conven- 
tional word  of  thanks,  the  fact  only  lent  a  zest  to 
his  .expectations.  In  the  meantime,  they  con- 
versed on  many  topics  of  everyday  interest,  in- 
cluding the  disreputable  condition  into  which  the 
tenement-house  had  sunk. 

"  An'  it 's  a  shame  it  is,"  Flynn  declared,  wax- 
ing eloquent ;  "  a  foine  pace  of  property  as  anny 


138  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

in  the  city,  wid  thirty-six  windies  to  the  front  of 
it,  wan  for  ivery  day  in  the  month  !  " 

But  of  the  flowers  no  word  was  spoken  until 
just  as  Truxton  was  taking  his  departure. 

"  You  are  sure  that  there  is  nothing  I  can  do 
for  you,  Flynn  ?  "  he  asked  ;  "  nothing  I  can  get 
for  you  to  make  you  more  comfortable  ?  You  are 
sure?" 

"  I  am  that,"  was  Flynn's  emphatic  rejoinder  ; 
and  then,  pulling  a  match  out  of  his  pocket  to  re- 
light his  pipe,  he  added,  "  An'  your  honor  '11 
not  be  afther  wastin'  your  money  on  anny  more 
bowkays  for  the  likes  o'  me.  It  .'s  mesilf  that 
thought  yez  had  more  sinse  !  ' ' 

Yet  if  Truxton' s  harvest  of  thanks  was  but  a 
scant  one,  the  fact  was  of  small  moment  to  him. 
The  unaccustomed  situation  had,  of  itself,  been 
most  fruitful  of  interest  and  amusement.  As  he 
looked  back  upon  his  own  emotions  at  first  find- 
ing the  old  man  in  his  momentarily  pathetic  con- 
dition, and  on  the  promptness  with  which  the 
suggestion  of  tragedy  had  got  itself  turned  into 
comedy,  he  found  himself  becoming  sceptical  as 
to  Fate  ever  getting  a  serious  grip  upon  Flynn. 
The  debonair  manner  in  which  he  had  encoun- 
tered the  ' '  brown  craturs  ' '  seemed  to  augur  well 
for  his  nonchalance  under  a  more  serious  crisis. 

To  be  sure,  there  was  Katie,  and  the  old  tene- 
ment, the  portrait,  the  flowers  in  the  blue  vase  ! 
Yes,  Fate  had  certainly  found  him  out  once,  un- 
less all  signs  failed ;  and  Truxton  had  imagination 


A  Phenomenal  Cure  139 

enough  to  do  full  justice  to  the  evidences  of  the 
fact.  That  a  man  so  fastidiously  neat  as  Flynn 
should  submit  to  the  malodorous,  uncleanly  char- 
acter of  the  house ;  that  so  old  a  man  should  risk 
his  life  on  those  rickety  stairs ;  above  all,  that  one 
so  self-respecting,  and  of  so  much  innate  delicacy 
of  feeling  should  continue  under  the  same  roof 
with  drunkards  and  slatterns — all  this  implied 
some  potent  influence,  not  superficially  apparent. 
And  although  the  long  curls  and  the  pathetic 
eyes  of  the  young  creature,  dead  close  upon  forty 
years,  might  not  in  themselves  have  afforded 
a  testimony  conclusive  in  a  court  of  justice,  the 
fading  flowers  in  the  blue  glass  vase  left  no  room 
for  doubt. 

Truxton's  already  awakened  interest  in  tene- 
ment-houses found  much  sustenance  in  this  par- 
ticular example.  If  the  house  did  not  boast  quite 
the  palatial  character  which  Flynn  was  inclined 
to  claim  for  it,  it  was  at  least  a  fairly  good  piece 
of  property,  which  had  been  outrageously  neg- 
lected— criminally  neglected,  Truxton  told  him- 
self, with  the  extravagance  of  youth,  which,  by 
the  way,  is  quite  as  likely  to  be  right  as  the  hesi- 
tancy of  age. 

E^ven  after  his  visits  to  Flynn  had  ceased — and 
he  knew  better  than  to  continue  them  beyond  a 
certain  limit — he  carried  about  with  him  the 
thought  of  that  wretched  human  hive,  and  this 
served  at  least  the  good  purpose  of  spurring  him 
on  to  fresh  endeavors  in  behalf  of  both  landlord 


140  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

and  tenant  of  such  property  as  he  had  control  of. 
In  so  much  that  there  speedily  came  a  time  when 
that  artistic  relish  in  the  foibles  and  the  humors 
of  his  kind,  which  had  originally  played  so  large 
a  part  in  his  satisfaction,  was  in  great  measure 
superseded  by  an  interest  which  came  perilously 
near  being  philanthropic. 

Meanwhile,  as  his  acquaintance  with  Ruth 
Ware  progressed, — and  it  was  of  far  too  spon- 
taneous and  unconventional  a  nature  to  halt  at  so 
favorable  a  moment  for  development  as  that 
afforded  by  the  Shepleigh  dinner — he  found  in 
her  no  lack  of  stimulating  interest.  His  formal 
admission  as  visitor  in  the  Ware  household  had 
come  about  very  easily  and  naturally. 

One  day,  about  a  week  after  that  memorable 
night-watch,  in  the  course  of  which  the  thought 
of  Ruth  and  Katie  had  become  so  curiously  asso- 
ciated in  his  mind,  Miss  Ware  came  in  to  make  a 
deposit  on  three  or  four  books.  Thanks  to  the 
complicated  machinery  of  the  bank,  the  duty  of 
returning  the  books  to  her  devolved,  not  upon 
the  receiving- teller,  but  upon  Truxton,  who  joy- 
fully seized  this  opportunity  for  a  word  with  her. 
As  he  handed  her  the  little  bunch  of  books  he  re- 
marked, in  a  strictly  business  tone  :  "I  don't 
know  whether  you  are  aware  that  one  of  the 
fundamentals  of  sound  finance  is  a  prompt  pay- 
ment of  debts.  You  incurred  an  obligation  at 
our  last  meeting. ' ' 

"  Oh,  the  penny,"  she  replied,  with  such  un- 


A  Phenomenal  Cure  141 

impeachable  gravity  that  the  watchful  Flynn,  in- 
tently observing  the  interview  from  a  remote 
corner,  was  forced  to  the  prosaic  conclusion  that 
it  was  business  "  hersilf "  was  talking.  "  It  is 
customary,  in  the  financial  circles  where  I  have 
got  my  experience,  for  the  creditor  to  come  and 
collect.  I  am  sure  my  mother  would  be  glad  to 
know  any  friend  of  Margaret  O'Toole's  "  ; — a  con- 
cession to  the  unique  origin  of  their  acquaintance 
which  broke  through  the  seriousness  of  the  con- 
versation in  a  manner  profoundly  gratifying  to 
Flynn. 

A  few  minutes  later,  when  Truxton  had  re- 
turned to  his  desk,  the  old  man,  unable  to  refrain 
from  some  exhibition  of  sympathetic  intelligence, 
sidled  up  to  him,  and  remarked,  in  his  deepest 
guttural,  ' '  I  seen  her  wid  me  own  eyes,  comin' 
out  of  the  Tripe  tinimint  wan  day,  an'  me  a- 
standin'  on  the  stairs  an'  not  stirrin'  hand  nor 
futt."  Then,  finding  his  information  tolerated, 
— and  indeed  Truxton  was  far  too  elated  at  the 
moment  to  resent  anything — he  waxed  eloquent 
and  declared,  "  An'  the  Tripe  gyurl,  she  throwed 
her  arms  around  the  waist  of  her  an'  burst  out 
a-cryin'  !  " 

"The  Tripe  girl?"  Truxton  repeated.  "Is 
that  the  thin  little  wretch  with  the  big  eyes  and 
the  father  that  drinks  ?  " 

"It  is  that  sorr  !  An'  hersilf  she  just  stoops 
down  an'  takes  the  gyurl's  face  in  her  two  hands 
an'  kisses  her  ;  an'  she  says,  says  she,  '  There, 


1 42  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

there,  Mattie,  I  '11  come  again  to-morrow,  sure  I 
will  ! '  Faith,  an'  it  's  no  place  for  the  loikes  of 
her — a  dirty  low  tinimint  an'  a  drunken  idjit  an' 
no  woman  about  the  place  at  all,  at  all  !  " 

"  Not  a  very  good  place  for  the  little  girl  either, 
I  should  think  ;  eh,  Fly nn  ?  ' ' 

This  heresy  was  too  much  for  the  equanimity 
of  the  pilgrim  sage.  With  a  grunt  and  a  grimace  he 
abruptly  turned  on  his  heel,  and  sought  refuge  in 
the  cellar,  there  to  commune  with  the  bank  cat  in 
whom  he  had  long  since  recognized  a  kindred  spirit. 

It  must  be  admitted  that  Truxton  himself  rather 
wondered  at  the  turn  his  own  sympathies  had 
taken.  Far  from  deprecating  the  appeal  of  the 
poor  little  wretch,  clinging  so  pitifully  to  the 
skirts  of  her  one  friend,  far  from  sharing  Flynn's 
sense  of  the  unfitness  of  the  situation,  he  found 
all  his  sympathies  enlisted  for  the  child.  Ruth 
was  strong  and  wise,  and  to  his  mind  she  could 
no  more  be  injured  by  intercourse  with  the  poor 
and  the  unclean  than  an  angel  from  heaven  could 
soil  his  wings  in  an  earthward  flight. 

Yet  Truxton  did  not  for  a  moment  compare 
Ruth  to  an  angel.  He  felt  that  she  was  alto- 
gether too  delightfully  human  to  suggest  high- 
flown  notions  of  other  spheres.  He  liked  to  think 
that  her  strong,  shapely  hands  were  not  too 
white,  not  too  delicate  for  helpful  deeds  ;  it  was 
good  to  know  that  the  face  about  which  he  had 
woven  so  many  dreams  and  fancies,  the  face 
which  was  to  him  a  "  thought  of  God,"  need  not 


A  Phenomenal  Cure  143 

shrink  from  contact  with  the  poor,  thin,  worn 
little  face  of  the  drunkard's  child.  He  was  will- 
ing that  she  should  shine  like  the  sun,  alike  upon 
the  evil  and  the  good — and  then  he  remembered, 
with  a  thrill  of  exultation,  that  she  had  expressed 
her  willingness  to  shine  upon  him,  who  was 
neither  evil  nor  good,  neither  rich  nor  poor,  but 
only  a  commonplace  bank-clerk,  with  no  legiti- 
mate claim  upon  the  dispenser  of  such  rare  gifts. 

Truxton  had  bought  a  little  bunch  of  pinks  that 
morning  of  a  boy  in  the  street.  They  stood  in  a 
glass  on  his  desk.  He  liked  flowers,  and  the  boy 
had  looked  as  if  he  would  like  ten  cents.  From 
time  to  time  as  he  got  off  from  the  counter  and 
returned  to  his  work  on  the  trial  balance — knit- 
ting-work, Aleck  Plummer  used  to  call  it — he 
would  take  a  sniff  at  the  flowers.  They  were 
uncommonly  spicy,  and  he  wished  he  had  been  at 
liberty  to  hand  them  to  Ruth.  Perhaps  she  would 
have  stuck  them  in  her  dress — that  dark-green 
serge  would  have  made  a  capital  background. 

Presently,  when  bank-hours  were  over  and 
Flynn,  having  long  since  emerged  from  his  chill 
retreat,  sauntered  past,  bound  for  home,  Truxton 
exclaimed,  "  Here,  Flynn,  have  a  posey  !  " 

And  as  the  old  man  graciously  accepted  the 
offering,  even  conceding  that  it  was  "  a  very 
dacent  bit  av  a  bowkay,"  his  "  protejay's  "  mind 
recurred,  with  much  satisfaction,  to  the  image  of 
the  blue  glass  vase,  and  to  the  face  of  Katie 
above  it. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THEORY   AND    PRACTICE. 

IF  Ruth  Ware  was,  in  one  phase  of  her  charac- 
ter, something  of  a  philanthropist,  she  was 
almost  as  unconventional  a  one  as  Truxton 
himself — and  this  fact  the  two  young  people  dis- 
covered, to  their  mutual  satisfaction,  very  early  in 
their  acquaintance. 

"  The  beauty  of  your  theories,"  he  said  to  her 
one  evening,* ' '  is  that  there  is  nothing  painfully 
rigid  about  them." 

"  No,  I  am  afraid  there  is  not,"  she  replied, 
regretfully. 

' '  Afraid  there  is  not  ?  ' ' 

' '  Yes  ;  if  there  is  anything  I  delight  in  it  is  a 
theory  ;  but  I  could  never  make  one  work." 

It  was  a  lovely  evening  in  the  latter  part  of 
April,  and  the  long  windows  were  open  to  the 
floor.  They  gave  upon  a  balcony  overlooking 
the  quiet  square,  and  Truxton  had  an  unchast- 
ened  desire  to  get  out  there  with  Ruth,  who,  for 
her  part,  was  sitting  contentedly  enough  just 
144 


Theory  and  Practice  145 

within  the  muslin  draperies,  with  the  light  from 
a  street-lamp  striking  across  her  face.  It  ought 
to  have  been  moonlight,  but  the  effect,  to  Trux- 
ton's  eyes,  was  really  just  as  satisfactory.  There 
were  tall,  spreading  elm-trees  in  the  square,  and 
their  delicately  budding  lower  branches  caught 
the  humble  light  from  the  street-lamp  as  grate- 
fully as  if  they  had  been  all  unaware  of  the  stars 
shining  among  the  upper  boughs. 

A  game  of  whist  was  going  on  in  the  adjoining 
room,  and  Truxton  glanced  from  time  to  time 
through  the  wide  folding-doorway,  with  real 
commiseration,  upon  Ruth's  elder  sister,  with 
her  three  companions,  handling  those  unpoetic 
pieces  of  pasteboard,  oblivious  alike  of  the  stars 
in  the  branches,  the  fragrance  in  the  air,  even  of 
the  light  on  the  face  of  Ruth — poor  things  !  He 
did  not  pause  to  consider  that  those  four  persons 
were,  for  the  moment,  presumably  content  with 
their  situation,  while  he — he  wanted  to  get  out 
on  the  balcony  ! 

Truxton  had  come  to  feel  very  much  at  home 
in  this  pleasant  old  house  on  the  quiet  square. 
Its  inmates,  though  perhaps  not  individually  very 
remarkable  people,  formed,  collectively,  a  delight- 
ful household.  Mrs.  Ware  herself  was  a  serene 
and  kindly  matron  in  whom  one  seemed  to  dis- 
cover the  source  of  the  more  genial  of  the  quali- 
ties appertaining  to  her  widely  diversified  brood. 
For  if  neither  Sarah,  the  whist-player,  who  was 
frankly  bookish,  nor  Elsie,  delightedly  dancing 


146  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

her  first  season  through,  had  the  advantage  of  re- 
sembling Ruth,  yet  each  and  all  seemed  imbued 
with  their  mother's  genius  for  easy  hospitality. 

The  two  elder  sons  being  absent,  in  the  cause, 
respectively,  of  matrimony  and  foreign  travel, 
there  remained,  of  the  boys,  only  a  serious- minded 
freshman,  a  youth  who  promptly  attached  him- 
self to  Truxton  with  that  stubborn,  inarticulate 
devotion  which  is  the  prerogative  of  animals  of 
the  nobler  kind.  Caleb  never  talked  about  Trux- 
ton, and  rarely  addressed  a  word  to  him,  yet  his 
feeling  was  as  unmistakable  as  if  he  had  declared 
it.  The  boy's  name,  in  its  solid  staidness,  was 
more  appropriate  to  him  than  to  his  father,  Mr. 
Ware,  senior,  being  sharper-witted,  and  of  a 
quicker,  more  peremptory  temper  than  this 
youngest  of  his  children. 

Truxton's  status  in  this  as  in  other  families 
whom  Shepleigh  introduced  him  to,  had  been  not 
a  little  promoted  by  the  discovery  of  ties  of  family 
acquaintanceship  of  a  generation  or  two  back. 
His  name  was  an  unusual  one,  and  such  gene- 
alogically minded  of  the  elders  of  society  as  re- 
called the  fact  that  a  daughter  of  old  Squire 
Vickery's  second  son  had  married  a  Truxton, 
were  quick  to  verify  the  inference  that  this 
pleasant  young  fellow  possessed  the  advantage 
of  a  grandfather.  That  this  was  an  advantage, 
cannot  be  denied,  and,  indeed,  it  would  have 
been  too  much  to  expect  that  the  world  at  large 
should  share  Ruth's  idiosyncrasy,  and  base  its  re- 


Theory  and  Practice  147 

gard  for  a  stranger  upon  his  connection  with  the 
O'Tooles  and  the  Flynns  of  the  social  order. 

As  for  the  young  man  himself,  he  was  not,  as 
we  have  seen,  indifferent  to  family  traditions,  and 
he  was  especially  gratified  to  know  that  Ruth's 
grandfather  had  been  a  classmate  of  one  of  the 
Vickerys,  and  had  visited  at  the  old  house  in  his 
college  days.  Yet  Truxton  did  not  lose  sight  of 
the  fact  that  it  was  to  Ophelia  Pye  and  the  widow 
that  he  primarily  owed  certain  quite  inestimable 
privileges. 

Meanwhile,  as  he  watched  Ruth's  face  in  the 
light  of  the  street-lamp  that  pleasant  April  eve- 
ning, he  found  himself  in  some  danger  of  forget- 
ting his  manners.  It  is  always  easy  to  be  silent 
when  one's  eyes  are  well  employed. 

Ruth,  for  her  part,  did  not  appear  to  consider 
the  conversation  urgent.  Having  made  her  little 
statement  of  fact  she  seemed  in  no  haste  to  expa- 
tiate further. 

V  Tell  me  one  of  your  theories,"  her  companion 
asked,  at  last. 

1 '  One  of  my  theories, ' '  she  said,  thoughtfully, 
as  if  her  mind  had,  nevertheless,  been  pursuing 
the  subject  in  the  interim, — "  One  of  my  theories 
is,  that  the  Tripe  family  ought  to  be  broken  up. 
You  remember  Mattie  Tripe?  According  to 
every  known  and  accepted  theory,  those  children 
ought  to  be  put  into  a  home.  But  I  can't  bring 
myself  to  have  it  done. ' ' 

"Why  not?" 


1 48  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

' '  Because  Mattie  is  engaged  in  saving  the  souls 
of  the  four  boys.  That  sounds  absurd,  but  it  is 
not.  Nothing  else  in  the  world  could  keep  those 
boys  straight.  Last  summer,  for  instance,"  she 
continued,  leaning  forward  a  little,  in  the  grow- 
ing eagerness  of  narration,  "  we  had  hardly  got 
Mattie  and  the  two  younger  ones  off  for  a  coun- 
try week,  when  Dan  and  Jimmy  proceeded  to  get 
drunk  and  to  fight  one  another  like  tigers,  and 
they  kept  up  that  sort  of  thing  pretty  much  all 
the  time  she  was  away.  They  had  never  done  it 
before,  and  they  will  never  do  it  again — as  long 
as  Mattie  stays  with  them.  I  can't  make  out 
whether  they  idolize  her  or  whether  they  are 
afraid  of  her." 

"  Perhaps  it  's  her  eyes,"  Truxton  suggested. 
' '  You  remember  I  told  you  how  she  looked  at 
me  when  I  inquired  for  Flynn's  tenement.  I 
never  was  so  alarmed  in  my  life  ! ' ' 

"  I  remember  that  you  ran  away  !  "  Ruth 
laughed.  "  Happily,  the  boys  have  more  nerve  ! 
She  will  probably  die,"  with  a  sudden  serious- 
ness, "  but  I  think  not  at  present.  She  would 
not  allow  herself  to  until  she  felt  safe  about  those 
boys." 

"  Is  n't  it  rather  a  pity  that  she  should  have 
to  ?  "  Truxton  asked,  and  he  watched  Ruth's  face 
for  the  answer. 

' '  A  pity  that  she  should  have  to  die  ?  Oh,  no  ; 
she  has  earned  the  right,  poor  little  soul  !  It 
would  be  heavenly  to  see  her  asleep." 


Theory  and  Practice  149 

A  man  need  not  have  shared  Truxton's  partial- 
ity for  Ruth,  to  feel  the  indescribably  tender  com- 
passionateness  with  which  this  was  said.  It  was 
not  the  lightly  flowering  pity  that  may  be  grown 
in  a  shallow  soil.  It  was  deep  and  genuine  and 
vital,  and  Truxton  felt  himself  so  stirred  in  spirit, 
that,  in  very  self-defence,  he  took  issue  with  her. 

"  It  seems  a  little  cruel,  though,"  he  said. 

' '  From  our  standpoint,  yes.  But  the  child  has 
a  right  to  follow  her  star. ' ' 

"  Do  you  think  she  knows  that  she  has  a 
star?" 

' '  Oh,  no  ;  all  she  knows  is,  that  the  boys  need 
her.  And  she  is  right  ;  Mattie  is  always  right, 
and— she  does  follow  her  star,  all  the  same.  Do 
you  see  Jupiter  up  there  ? ' '  she  asked,  with  a 
seeming  change  of  subject.  "  It  looks  as  if  he 
were  caught  in  the  elm-branches — but  he  is  not. ' ' 

' '  I  wish  we  could  get  her  and  her  star  out  of 
that  house,"  said  Truxton,  recognizing  the  con- 
tinuity of  Ruth's  train  of  thought.  ' '  Flynn  says 
it  is  really  a  very  rough  crew  there." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is.  But  perhaps  it  will  not 
always  be  so,  for  I  was  told  yesterday  that  that 
block  of  houses  was  in  the  market.  It  is  always 
possible  that  it  may  fall  into  better  hands. ' ' 

"  That  is  the  best  news  I  have  heard  for  many 
a  day!  "  Truxton  exclaimed.  "Do  they  hold  it 
pretty  stiff?  " 

' '  I  fancy  not,  for  they  are  selling  it  to  settle  an 
estate. ' ' 


1 50  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

"  I  wish  I  could  get  hold  of  it." 

"  Indeed  I  wish  you  could.  I  asked  my  father 
if  he  could  not  buy  it  and  get  you  to  manage  it." 

"  And  what  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  He  said  he  could,  but  he  would  n't  !  " 

"  And  I  would,  but  I  could  n't  !  That  's  Fate, 
all  over  !  " 

"  Yes,  Fate  is  very  unbiddable  " ;  and  at  that, 
Ruth  left  her  seat  and  stepped  out  upon  the  bal- 
cony. Truxton  followed  her  with  the  most  de- 
licious sense  of  having  got  what  he  wanted. 

"There  is  one  consolation,"  he  remarked,  as 
he  leaned  against  the  balustrade  and  followed  the 
lights  of  a  passing  cab,  conscious  of  a  lively  com- 
passion for  its  inmates,  whoever  they  might  be  ; 
' '  Fate  sometimes  gives  us  what  we  want  without 
our  asking  !  " 

•"  True,"  Ruth  replied,  with  a  deep  sigh  of 
satisfaction  ;  ' '  I  am  sure  a  person  would  have  to 
be  a  poet  or  an  artist,  or  some  such  inspired  being, 
to  ask  for  anything  as  lovely  as  this  evening." 

Then  Truxton,  having  got  a  chair  for  Ruth, 
seated  himself  upon  the  stone  balustrade,  privately 
blessing  the  thermometer  for  recording  an  un- 
seasonable warmth.  The  talk  trailed  off,  in  a 
desultory  manner  by  way  of  the  temperature,  the 
visitor  repeating  Miss  Vickery's  historic  statement 
regarding  the  icicles  which  had  adorned  one  of 
her  early  birthdays.  He  was  always  glad  to 
quote  Aunt  L,ucretia  ;  it  seemed  in  a  measure  to 
restore  her  to  her  rightful  place  in  society. 


Theory  and  Practice  1 5 1 

"  I  wish  we  knew  your  aunt,"  Ruth  said; 
"  and  I  don't  see  why  we  don't.  Julia  Hitch- 
cock says  they  have  always  known  her. ' ' 

"  That  is  because  her  grandfather  was  a  neigh- 
bor of  my  aunt's.  Propinquity  counts  for  so 
much. ' ' 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  suppose  it  has  got  to  be  so  while 
we  live  in  such  a  crowd. ' ' 

As  if  the  words  had  evoked  the  crowd  which 
had,  up  to  that  moment,  been  kept  at  bay,  a  tall 
figure  came  striding  along  the  sidewalk,  and  just 
checked  itself,  Truxton  thought,  in  the  act  of 
turning  to  pass  up  the  steps  of  the  house.  Hark- 
ness  Dole  had  seen  them  on  the  balcony,  for  he 
lifted  his  hat  and  passed  on.  Truxton  knew  that 
he  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  house,  but  it  had 
not  before  occurred  to  him  to  resent  the  fact. 
Yet  the  impression  had  been  growing  upon  him 
for  some  time  past  that  a  cousin  was  a  nonde- 
script kind  of  creature,  with  a  tremendous  pull 
over  other  men,  especially  when  he  had  succeeded 
in  creating  illusions  about  himself. 

"  I  wonder  why  Harkness  did  not  come  in," 
Ruth  speculated,  in  a  disengaged  tone. 

' '  Perhaps  he  is  tired  of  seeing  me  round.  This 
is  the  third  time  he  has  met  me  here." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  met  him  here  just  as 
often,"  Ruth  retorted,  carelessly  ;  "  so  I  don't 
see  but  that  you  are  quits.  And,  by  the  way,  he 
is  not  exactly  a  cousin.  He  was  only  my  aunt's 
step-son." 


152  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

"Oh,  is  that  all?"  Truxton  returned,  in  a 
transparently  chagrined  tone.  Then,  recovering 
himself,  "  Aunt  L,ucretia  says  she  does  not 
believe  in  second  marriages,  because  they  are  so 
confusing  !  " 

"  Tell  me  more  about  Miss  Vickery.  I  should 
think  an  old  lady  named  L,ucretia  must  be  very 
much  of  a  person.  Is  she  as  dignified  as  her 
name  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  is  obliged  to  be  very  dignified,  in 
order  to  keep  things  going.  It  always  seems  to 
me  that  she  took  a  certain  attitude  when  the  cir- 
cumstances of  her  life  made  it  the  natural  one, 
and  as  if  she  had  shown  quite  remarkable  back- 
bone in  not  modifying  it  in  the  slightest  degree, 
now  that  circumstances  have  changed.  She  told 
me  one  day  that  she  could  not  remember  that 
anyone  had  ever  been  impertinent  to  her  in  the 
whole  course  of  her  life. ' ' 

' '  I  should  like  to  know  her, ' '  Ruth  said. 

"  I  hope  you  may — one  of  these  days,"  and 
Truxton' s  mind  reverted  with  a  warm  sense  of 
satisfaction  to  the  time  when  Ruth  had  used  that 
phrase  with  reference  to  the  lucky-penny. 

Not  that  anything  so  sordid  as  a  copper  coin 
had  ever  passed  between  them  ;  yet  it  seemed  to 
him  that  its  promise  had  been  quite  wonderfully 
fulfilled.  Perhaps  Louisa  Hitchcock  was  right, 
— perhaps  things  that  were  equal  to  one  thing 
were  equal  to  another  ! 

And  before  the  week  was  out  Truxton  had  veri- 


Theory  and  Practice  153 

fied  one,  at  least,  of  the  agreeable  correspondences 
suggested  in  Louisa's  classic  speech,  for  he  had 
established  the  existence  of  a  highly  satisfactory 
equation  between  a  certain  real-estate  investment 
and  a  hitherto  uncertain  mining  speculation. 

To  be  more  explicit,  he  lost  no  time  in  making 
inquiries  about  the  projected  sale  of  that  "  foine 
pace  of  property  wid  thirty-six  windies  to  the 
front  of  it."  He  discovered  that  it  could  be  had 
for  the  taxed  valuation,  and  on  easy  terms,  and 
upon  investigation  it  proved  to  be  in  better  con- 
dition that  was  superficially  apparent.  The  main 
foundation  and  walls  of  the  structure  were  solid, 
the  general  system  of  plumbing  was  sound,  and 
Flynn's  eyrie  was  warrant  of  what  might  be  done 
with  the  individual  tenement. 

Negotiations  were  pending  for  a  month,  tests 
and  estimates  were  making,  and,  about  the  middle 
of  May,  Truxton  braved  the  mingled  contempt 
and  chagrin  of  his  Colorado  correspondent  and 
sent  orders  to  realize  on  the  bulk  of  his  mining- 
stock.  His  old  classmate,  imagining  that  he  had 
become  nervous  over  some  recent  fluctuations, 
expended  large  sums  in  the  telegraphic  transmis- 
sion of  facts  as  to  smelter  returns,  and  fancies  as 
to  coming  dividends.  But  Truxton  was  firm,  not 
to  say  peremptory,  with  the  result  that  within  a 
few  days  a  draft  on  New  York  for  nearly  nine 
thousand  dollars  went  to  swell  his  usually  modest 
bank-balance,  giving  a  short-lived  air  of  import- 
ance to  his  pass-book,  before  playing  its  part  in 


154  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

bestowing  upon  him  the  dignities  and  responsi- 
bilities of  real-estate  ownership. 

Truxton,  with  his  customary  reticence  in  such 
matters,  confided  to  no  one  the  outcome  of  his 
mining  venture  ;  indeed  no  one  had  been  really 
certain  that  such  a  venture  had  been  made.  Nor 
did  he  think  it  necessary  to  give  out  the  fact  that 
he  was  now  trying  his  luck  in  real-estate.  For 
his  own  part,  he  found  this  new  form  of  invest- 
ment much  more  to  his  taste  than  the  question- 
able methods  and  phenomenal  ups  and  downs  of 
speculation,  in  which  he  had  always  had  an  un- 
comfortable feeling  that  somebody  was  sure  to 
get  hurt, — that  his  gain  must  be  somebody's  loss. 
Here,  again,  what  was  equal  to  one  thing  usually 
turned  out  to  be  equal  to  another  !  He  found  his 
respect  for  Louisa  Hitchcock  growing,  perceptibly, 
so  that  the  next  time  he  called  upon  the  family  it 
was  with  a  half-defined  hope, — destined  k>  disap- 
pointment, —  that  this  hitherto  unappreciated 
philosopher  might  add  some  other  valuable 
axiom  to  his  slender  store. 

To  do  Truxton  justice,  his  deepest  satisfaction 
in  his  new  acquisition  arose  from  the  thought  of 
the  power  he  had  acquired  of  giving  some  twenty 
families  of  his  fellow-creatures  a  comfortable 
home.  He  knew  it  was  a  task  that  he  could 
handle,  and  that  sentiment  of  home  which  was 
innate  in  him  could  not  but  be  gratified  by  this 
impersonal  indulgence  of  it. 

He  proposed  to  continue,  indefinitely,  the  mort- 


Theory  and  Practice  155 

gage,  which  was  proportionately  small  enough  to 
go  at  a  low  rate  of  interest,  and,  for  the  first  year, 
he  purposed  spending  money  freely  in  repairs. 
His  salary  was  amply  sufficient  for  his  present 
needs,  and  if,  one  of  these  days  ? — there  had  been 
one  miracle, — who  could  tell  ?  Perhaps  Louisa's 
philosophy  hid  a  yet  unsounded  depth  !  Perhaps 
a  fortune  that  had  shown  itself  equal  to  one 
miracle  might  prove  equal  to  another  ! 

The  day  on  which  the  deed  was  signed  and 
Truxton  came  into  formal  possession,  he  remarked 
casually  to  Flynn,  "  That  block  of  houses  where 
you  live  has  been  sold,  and  the  purchaser  has  put 
me  in  charge.  We  must  try  and  straighten  things 
out  there ;  eh,  Flynn  ?  ' ' 

The  old  man  gave  his  "  protejay  "  a  coldly 
critical  look. 

"  An'  it 's  yoursilf  the  new  landlord  has  putt  in 
charge  ?  ' ' 

"  That  's  the  idea,  Flynn  ;  what  do  you  say  to 
the  arrangement  ?  ' ' 

"  Well,  sorr,  ye  're  full  young,  but,"  with  a 
shrug  of  the  shoulders,  "  I  belave  ye  manes 
well  !" 

"  Flynn,  you  're  no  good  !  "  Truxton  cried, 
really  dashed  by  this  cold-blooded  sententious- 
ness.  He  had  been  so  ill-advised  as  to  indulge  in 
pleasurable  anticipations  of  that  moment,  and  for 
once  he  was  deceived  by  the  old  man's  feigned 
indifference. 

How  much  he  had  been  deceived  he  learned,  a 


156 


One  of  the  Pilgrims 


few  hours  later,  when  Rathbone  confided  to  him 
Flynn's  cautious  summing  up  of  his  character. 
Without  any  word  of  introduction  or  elucidation, 
the  pilgrim  sage  had  remarked  to  the  receiving- 
teller:  "  That  young  Misther  Trooxton  now  ! 
He  's  a  plaisin',  modest  gintleman,  but  he  's 
shrewd,  now  I  tell  ye,  he  's  shrewd/  " 

The  extravagance  of  this  compliment,  consider- 
ing its  source,  was  wholly  unprecedented,  and 
Truxton  could  not  but  admit,  with  all  due  mod- 
esty, that  he  must  henceforth  be  considered  to 
outrank  the  gang  ! 


CHAPTER  XII. 
TRUXTON'S  UTOPIA. 

TRUXTON'S  choice  of  Flynn  as  his  first 
confidant  was  due  no  less  to  his  being  the 
only  one  of  his  associates  available  for 
the  part,  than  to  the  fact  of  his  close  personal 
interest  as  tenant.  The  new  householder  did 
not  care  to  impart  intelligence  of  so  agitating  a 
nature  to  his  aunt.  Not  that  she  would  have 
been  in  the  least  degree  disturbed  by  the  charac- 
ter of  the  investment  itself ;  indeed,  it  was  quite 
what  she  had  been  brought  up  to,  and  that  alone 
would  have  been  warrant  of  her  approval.  It 
was  the  mortgage  that  formed  the  stumbling- 
block.  Frank  might  have  been  as  cautious  as  he 
would,  the  existence  of  this  feature  of  the  trans- 
action would  surely  have  got  itself  revealed  to 
her,  and  a  mortgage,  in  the  eyes  of  Miss  Vickery, 
was  nothing  short  of  a  blot  on  the  'scutcheon 
which  no  self-respecting  family  would  for  a  mo- 
ment tolerate. 

As  for  Ruth,  Truxton  naturally  did  not  speak 
157 


1 58  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

to  her  of  the  negotiations  while  pending,  and  by 
the  time  his  purchase  was  completed  she  had 
passed  hopelessly  beyond  his  reach,  swept  away 
by  that  tide  of  emigration  to  shore  and  hill  and 
country-side,  that  annually  depopulates  certain 
sections  of  our  cities.  The  Ware  family  were 
wont  to  go  into  retreat,  as  it  were,  for  five  or  six 
months  of  the  year,  in  an  old  country  house, 
quite  out  of  calling  distance,  and  Truxton  knew 
very  well  that,  for  all  practical  purposes,  or  for 
such  purposes  as  from  his  standpoint  were  practi- 
cal, they  might  as  well  have  taken  up  their  resi- 
dence at  the  North  Pole. 

For  some  days  after  his  farewell  call  in  the  old 
elm-grown  square,  he  reflected  gloomily  upon  the 
irksomeness  of  a  civilization  which  deterred  him 
from  flinging  all  conventionalities  to  the  winds, 
and  besieging  the  family  in  their  isolated  strong- 
hold. Gradually,  however,  his  mind  became  so 
preoccupied  with  plans  and  processes  for  the  re- 
generation of  his  property  that,  had  not  the 
thought  of  Ruth  been  inextricably  associated 
with  the  very  details  of  his  work,  her  image 
might  have  receded  somewhat  into  the  region  of 
dreams.  Even  so,  he  soon  found  that  his  last 
thought  at  night  and  his  first  thought  in  the 
morning, — and  it  must  be  owned  that,  at  this 
stage  of  his  experience,  there  existed  for  him  no 
intervening  hours, — his  first  and  last  thought, 
then,  was  not,  when  should  he  mee>»  Ruth  again, 
but,  what  should  he  have  accomplished  for  her 


Truxtoris  Utopia  159 

approval  ?  No  ;  Truxton,  as  might  have  been 
foretold,  was  no  disconsolate  lover  in  the  absence 
of  his  mistress.  The  part  would  not  have 
suited  him,  even  if  he  had  had  the  leisure  to 
play  it. 

As  the  long  summer  with  its  great  heats  and 
merciful  respites  held  its  course,  he  found  him- 
self pressing  the  business  of  landlord  with  all 
urgency,  and  with  an  exhilarating  consciousness 
of  success.  It  was  all  very  modest,  this  work 
that  he  was  doing  ;  to  the  indifferent  spectator  it 
might  have  seemed  sordidly  prosaic.  Yet  to  Frank 
Truxton  it  was  anything  but  that.  That  sense 
of  power  had  entered  into  him  which  makes  a 
man  feel  himself  a  genuine  factor,  however  small 
a  one,  in  the  general  scheme  of  things  ;  that  con- 
sciousness of  usefulness  which  makes  the  home- 
liest task  worth  while.  And  how  could  any  work 
be  prosaic  that  had  got  itself  inextricably  associ- 
ated with  the  thought  of  Ruth  ? 

One  afternoon  in  August  Truxton  was  walking 
along  his  street,  as  he  unconsciously  called  the 
dingy  thoroughfare  in  his  first  pride  of  posses- 
sion, when,  as  he  approached  his  own  block  of 
houses,  a  most  amazing  thing  happened — a  thing 
which  might  fairly  be  called  a  miracle.  The 
door  of  No.  41  opened,  and  there  emerged  there- 
from, not  an  angel  from  heaven,  not  a  fairy  god- 
mother, not  even  a  queen  in  crown  and  sceptre — 
but  something  far  better.  For  it'  was  no  other 
than  Ruth  herself,  clad  in  rustling  garments  of 


1 60  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

lilac  cambric,  and  wearing  a  hat  adorned  with 
lilac-blossoms.  As  she  recognized  him  she  hast- 
ened forward  with  unmistakable  cordiality. 

"  O  Mr.  Truxton,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you!  " 
she  cried.  ' '  Can  you  tell  me  who  it  is  that  has 
bought  this  house  and  is  doing  such  wonderful 
things  to  it  ?  " 

"  Modesty  forbids,"  was  his  solemn  rejoinder, 
as,  with  anything  but  a  solemn  countenance,  he 
possessed  himself  of  her  hand. 

"  You  have  bought  it  yourself !  I  might  have 
known  it  !  "  and,  as  if  she  could  now  refuse  him 
no  good  thing,  she  considerately  ignored  the  fact 
that  he  had  not  let  her  hand  go. 

Not  to  press  his  advantage  too  far,  Truxton 
loosed  his  hold,  but  only  to  establish  one  of  a 
less  tangible  nature. 

' '  Are  you  in  a  hurry  ?  "  he  asked.  ' '  Could 
you  come  in  and  look  things  over  and  give  me 
some  hints  ?  ' ' 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  there  is  nothing  I  should  like 
better,  and  I  have  plenty  of  time  on  my  hands. 
Mamma  and  I  are  spending  the  night  with  the 
D  unbars,  at  Fairfields,  on  our  way  home  from  the 
Cape." 

"  And  you  have  been  to  see  Mattie  Tripe  ?  " 

' '  Yes  ;  all  she  could  tell  me  was  that  the  new 
landlord  looked  something  like  a  missionary,  but 
that  he  never  prayed  with  Pa  !  " 

This  was  repeated  with  a  little  gflpp  of  amuse- 
ment, ending  in  a  laugh  on  either  side,  the  joy- 


Truxtoris  Utopia  161 

ousness  of  which  was  hardly  accounted  for  by  the 
grotesque  suggestion  of  the  precocious  Mattie. 

They  had  entered  the  furthermost  of  the  five 
doorways,  and  Ruth  took  things  in  at  a  glance. 

"  You  've  painted  and  varnished  the  walls," 
she  exclaimed.  "  What  a  happy  thought  !  How 
clean  and  light  it  is !  Oh,  but  you '  ve  put  glass  into 
the  house-door.  What  a  difference  it  makes  !  " 

"  Does  n't  it  ?  "  Truxton  agreed,  with  ill-dis- 
guised triumph.  ' '  It  makes  a  different  thing  of 
the  entry.  I  let  a  tenement  on  this  floor  last 
week,  on  the  strength  of  those  two  panes  of  glass, 
to  such  a  jolly  German  family.  They  were 
tickled  to  pieces  over  it.  Now  come  up-stairs 
and  see  my  star-chambers. ' ' 

"  You  had  to  put  in  a  lot  of  new  stef>s,  did  n't 
you?"  Ruth  observed,  as  they  passed  up  the 
stairs. 

"  Yes  ;  you  can  see  where  they  are  new.  But 
the  others  are  clean,  though  they  don't  look 
so  ;  "  and  Truxton  paused,  anxious  for  a  re- 
sponse. If  Ruth  should  feel  doubtful  about  it 
there  must  be  an  entire  new  flight  at  once. 

"  Don't  I  know  ?  "  she  answered,  with  a  little 
wise,  experienced  inflection  which  commanded 
Truxton's  entire  confidence.  "  Why,  the  feel  to 
your  feet  is  different. ' ' 

At  the  top  of  the  first  flight  of  stairs  they 
knocked  at  a  door  which  was  opened  by  a  tall, 
bony  Swedish  woman,  of  whom  Truxton  de- 
manded the  keys  to  No.  3. 


1 62  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

"  That  is  the  only  altogether  respectable  tenant 
besides  Flynn  that  I  found  in  the  whole  block, ' ' 
he  said,  as  the  woman  disappeared  for  a  moment. 
"  She  keeps  the  keys  and  shows  the  rooms  to 
applicants  who  come  out  of  hours.  You  lock 
things  up  pretty  promptly,  Mrs.  Mattesen,"  he 
observed,  as  she  handed  him  the  keys.  "  The 
paperers  can't  have  been  gone  more  than  fifteen 
minutes." 

4 '  Yes,  I  locks  him  early,  or  de  rooms  do  be  full 
of  womans  to  see  de  new  papers  !  ' ' 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  withering  than 
the  accent  of  disdain  with  which  the  word  "rwo- 
mans  "  was  enunciated. 

' '  I  wish  I  could  think  of  any  way  of  knocking 
a  little  light  into  this  stairway,"  Truxton  re- 
marked, as  he  passed  on  in  advance  of  Ruth. 
The  stairs  had  never  seemed  to  him  so  dark. 
"  But  I  've  got  a  scheme  on  for  ventilation  that 
promises  well.  This  is  the  only  empty  tenement 
I  've  got  to-day,"  he  continued,  throwing  open 
the  door  of  a  little  room  behung  with  pink  paper; 
"  though  I  suppose  I  've  got  to  turn  out  one 
family  in  No.  41." 

"  Not  the  Tripes,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  No  ;  they  don't  make  trouble.  Besides, 
Tripe  has  braced  up  like  everything  since  you 
gave  him  that  music-box.  It  's  a  curious  thing, 
but  that  fellow  makes  a  perfect  fetish  of  it  ;  he 
will  sit  and  listen  to  it  by  the  hour.  Did  Mattie 
put  you  up  to  it?  " 


Truxtoris  Utopia  163 

"  Yes,"  Ruth  answered,  as  she  stepped  from 
chamber  to  chamber  of  the  clean  little  place, 
poking  an  inquisitive  but  approving  nose  into 
closet  and  sink  and  stovepipe  hole.  "  Yes,  Mat- 
tie  told  me  that  the  only  thing  that  her  father 
liked  better  than  drink  was  music.  So  I  sent 
that  over,  and  told  him  that  if  he  would  get 
twenty  dollars  into  the  Pilgrim  Savings  Bank  for 
Mattie  before  the  first  of  October  I  would  make 
him  a  present  of  the  music-box. ' ' 

"  I  had  no  idea  you  were  so  clever  at  bribery 
and  corruption  !  " 

"  You  have  yet  much  to  learn,"  she  laughed. 
' '  The  beauty  of  it  is,  that  the  book  is  made  in  my 
name  as  trustee,  so,  while  he  can  put  in  all  he 
likes,  he  can't  draw  a  dollar.  Mattie  says  he 
has  n't  been  so  steady  at  work  for  many  years. 
Poor  little  mouse  !  As  if  she  knew  anything 
about  '  many  years  '  !  " 

"  She  sometimes  looks  a  thousand  years  old," 
Truxton  demurred. 

"  Yes,  and  sometimes  about  two.  How  nice 
this  all  is,  Mr.  Truxton  !  " 

"  Do  you  really  think  so?  And  why  won't 
you  sit  down  on  something  ?  Here  !  "  and,  taking 
off  .his  coat,  Truxton  flung  it  over  a  board  that 
the  paperers  had  left  across  a  couple  of  barrels. 
He  was  glad  he  had  on  an  outing-shirt  and  no 
waistcoat,  and  he  remembered  that  he  had  rather 
admired  his  necktie  that  morning  when  he  put  it 
on.  Truxton  was  no  dude,  but,  like  many  an 


1 64  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

older  and  presumably  wiser  than  he,  he  made 
something  of  a  cult  of  his  neckties. 

"  Thank  you,  Sir  Walter,"  Ruth  exclaimed, 
taking  the  proffered  seat ;  ' '  and  now  tell  me  all 
about  it  from  beginning  to  end." 

"In  the  first  place,  how  do  you  like  the 
paper  ?  "  asked  Sir  Walter,  throwing  open  a  win- 
dow and  seating  himself  on  the  ledge,  whence  he 
had  an  admirable  view  of  the  apparition  in  lilac 
which  was  making  itself  so  much  at  home  in  the 
rose-colored  box  of  a  room. 

"  It  's  pretty,"  she  replied,  with  an  emphatic 
nod  ;  "  and  the  next  room  is  different.  They 
like  that,  just  as  we  do.  I  never  could  see  why 
such  people  must  have  their  bedrooms  and  parlors 
and  kitchens  all  papered  exactly  alike.  You  '11 
let  this  fast  enough." 

"  Yes  ;  Mrs.  Mattesen  says  so.  She  is  so  de- 
lighted with  things  that  she  gives  the  house  a 
great  character.  She  gave  me  to  understand, 
yesterday,  that  there  was  only  one  '  out '  in  the 
whole  establishment." 

' '  And  that  was  ?  ' ' 

' '  Cockrats  !  ' '  This  in  a  sepulchral  whisper 
which  was  so  good  a  piece  of  mimicry  that  the 
uncanny  image  of  a  cockroach  rose  as  promptly 
in  Ruth's  mind  as  it  had  in  that  of  the  horrified 
young  landlord.  "  Miss  Ware,"  Truxton  in- 
quired, with  great  seriousness,  "  can  you  suggest 
a  remedy  for  cockrats  ?  " 

Whereupon  Miss  Ware  unfolded  all  the  lore 


Truxtoris  Utopia  165 

which  she  had  gathered  in  several  years'  fre- 
quenting of  the  chosen  haunts  of  that  direful 
denizen  of  the  water-pipes,  and  Truxton  listened 
as  devoutly  as  if  the  theme  had  been  of  roses  and 
humming-birds  —  more  devoutly,  perhaps,  for 
what  have  roses  and  humming-birds  to  do  with 
the  one  vital  question  which  alone,  at  that  mo- 
ment, seemed  worthy  of  consideration  ? 

The  sun  was  still  shining  across  the  open  space 
at  the  rear  of  the  house,  and  a  long  ray  came 
slanting  over  Truxton's  shoulder  and  just  touched 
the  toe  of  Ruth's  neat  shoe  and  the  hem  of  the 
lilac  gown.  He  hoped  that  his  guest  noticed  it, 
for  he  thought  its  appearance  highly  creditable  to 
the  establishment. 

Presently,  the  grewsome  subject  of  the  "  cock- 
rats  ' '  being  satisfactorily  disposed  of,  conversation 
took  a  more  pleasing  turn,  the  master  of  the 
property  unfolding  an  ambitious  plan  for  a  roof- 
garden  which  he  hoped  to  put  into  execution  an- 
other summer.  He  narrated,  with  much  spirit, 
how  the  idea  had  been  suggested  to  him  by  a 
family  of  Galician  Jews,  who  had  asked  permission 
to  keep  the  Feast  of  the  Tabernacles  on  the  roof 
— only  the  men,  not  the  women — and  how  they 
had -erected  an  arbor  of  lattice  covered  with  cloth 
and  wound  with  living  green,  and  had  slept  and 
supped  there  for  three  days  and  nights — only  the 
men,  not  the  women. 

"  If  you  have  a  taste  for  revenge,  Miss  Ware," 
he  added,  with  mock  seriousness,  "  we  might  ad- 


1 66  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

mit  only  the  women,  not  the  men,  to  the  roof- 
garden." 

Miss  Ware  promised  to  give  the  subject  her 
best  consideration,  but,  meanwhile,  might  she 
not  see  the  roof?  And  Truxton  consented,  with 
a  doubtful  glance  at  the  lilac  cambric. 

A  few  minutes  later,  when  the  transit  had  been 
accomplished  with  impunity  to  limbs  and  lilacs, 
he  and  Ruth  found  themselves  standing  on  a 
breezy  height,  commanding  a  view  of  chimney- 
pots and  attic-windows,  with  a  splendid  arch  of 
sky  overhead,  and  a  glimpse  of  the  river  at  the 
end  of  a  narrow  opening.  They  were  both 
familiar  with  some  of  the  famous  views  of  the 
world,  but  to  Truxton,  at  least,  no  Alpine  heights 
had  ever  given  quite  the  thrill  of  joy  that  ema- 
nated to-day  from  those  chimney-pots;  and  Capri 
itself,  sleeping  upon  the  bosom  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean, had  scarcely  seemed  as  fair  as  the  old 
coaling-schooner,  in  the  narrow  glimpse  of  river, 
that  gently  swayed  its  masts  to  the  pulse  of  the 
incoming  tide. 

Ruth  was  full  of  inquiry  and  suggestion,  in  the 
light  of  which  they  could  almost  see  the  roof- 
garden  grow  before  their  eyes,  and  at  last  she 
said,  with  an  unconscious  implication  which  was 
almost  too  agreeable  to  be  overlooked:  "  I  do 
think,  Mr.  Truxton,  we  shall  be  able  to  make 
something  really  fine  up  here — always  provided 
that  you  are  not  going  to  ruin  yourself.  I  wish 
you  would  tell  me  something  of  the  business 


Truxtoris  Utopia  167 

aspect  of  the  thing — that  is,  if  you  don't 
mind." 

"  Well,"  Truxton  admitted,  as  he  watched  an 
eight-oar  scull  cross  the  narrow  strip  of  river  ; 
"  the  business  aspect  is  rather  a  limited  one  for 
the  first  year.  I  shall  get  out  the  fixed  charges 
and  these  repairs,  and  that  's  about  all." 

"  I  don't  suppose  my  father  would  approve." 

' '  Perhaps  not.  The  fact  is,  Miss  Ware,  I  owe 
it  to  the  estate.  You  may  say  it  's  a  debt  I  did 
not  contract;  but  I  assumed  it,  which  comes  to 
the  same  thing." 

"  Of  course  you  did,  and  it  was  in  order  to  as- 
sume it  that  you  bought  the  property !  ' ' 

The  conversation  was  going  on  as  easily  as  if 
the  natural  place  for  the  discussion  of  grave 
questions  of  finance  and  philanthropy  were  among 
the  chimney-pots  of  a  tenement-house. 

"  In  one  way  it  has  been  good  business," 
Truxton  remarked,  with  a  jerk  of  his  head  to- 
ward a  tall  adjoining  building  to  the  northward, 
whose  solid  brick  rose  two  stories  above  them. 
' '  The  owner  of  that  block  over  there  has  asked 
me  to  take  charge  of  it.  He  lost  two  tenants  to 
me  a  week  ago,  and  he  came  in  to  see  what  we 
were  about. ' ' 

"  Shall  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  Not  as  manager  for  him.  I  have  offered  to 
take  a  five-years'  lease  and  handle  it  independ- 
ently. I  can  do  better  work  in  that  way,  and  it 
will  be  more  profitable." 


1 68  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

"You  will  have  your  hands  full,"  Ruth  re- 
marked, a  few  minutes  later,  when  they  had 
safely  accomplished  the  descent  of  the  first  peril- 
ous flight,  and  were  passing  down  the  dark  stairs 
to  the  street-door. 

"  That  's  what  I  like,"  he  declared,  adding,  as 
they  stepped  outside,  ' '  I  mean  to  go  in  for  real- 
estate  altogether,  one  of  these  days.  It 's  opening 
up  so  fast  that  I  can  almost  see  my  way  clear  to 
it  already." 

1 '  You  mean  that  you  would  give  up  the  bank  ? 
I  should  think  you  would  feel  as  if  you  were 
throwing  away  a  season-ticket  to  the  theatre." 

"  But  it  would  never  do  to  spend  your  life  at  the 
theatre, — and  then," — with  a  comical  grimace, 
— "  there  is  something  dreadfully  inelastic  about 
a  salary  !  But  I  don't  know  why  I  should  make 
you  listen  to  my  visions,  unless," — and  he  looked 
into  her  eyes  with  a  sudden  impulse,  as  suddenly 
suppressed,  to  tell  her  then  and  there  the  true 
meaning  and  inspiration  of  all  his  work, — "  unless 
I  could  conjure  up  something  more  poetic  than 
anything  I  have  been  able  to  muster  yet  !  ' ' 

"  Poetic  !  "  she  repeated,  as  she  took  his  hand 
in  parting — for  here  their  ways  diverged,  and 
Truxton  was  too  ardently  desirous  of  walking  to 
her  father's  office  with  her  to  venture  to  do  it. 
"  Poetic!  "  she  repeated  ;  "  there  's  more  poetry 
in  the  work  you  are  doing  than  in  anything  I 
know  !  " 

"  If  there  is  any  poetry  in  it,"  he  cried,  with  a 


Truxtoris  Utopia  169 

backward  toss  of  the  head  that  seemed  to  Ruth 
very  expressive,  "it  is  of  your  making,  Miss 
Ware." 

' '  Then  you  will  tell  me  more  some  time  ?  ' ' 
"  Yes  ;  one  of  these  days  !  " — and  as  she  passed 
down  the  grim  city  street,  in  all  the  country  fresh- 
ness of  her  cambric  gown,  Truxton  strode  away 
without  once  turning  to  look  after  her. 

And,  indeed,  where  was  the  need  ?  Did  he  not 
see  her  clearly  before  his  eyes,  for  hours  after  ? 
And  all  that  evening,  and  for  days  to  come,  his 
happiest  fancies  moved  as  in  a  lilac  haze,  and 
there  sang  in  his  ears,  in  many  tunes  and  many 
keys,  his  own  confident  prophecy, — "  One  of  these 
days,  one  of  these  days  ! ' ' 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


AN  UNLUCKY   WINDFALL. 

LESS  my  stars  and  gaiter-boots  !  "  cried 
Andy  Stone,  with  an  elocutionary  vigor 
worthy  of  a  more  forceful  expletive  ;  "if 
the  old  Pilgrim  ain't  just  painting  the  town  red  !  " 

It  was  close  upon  the  stroke  of  nine,  and  Andy 
was  gazing  with  awestruck  admiration  at  a 
stencilled  design,  of  decorative  intention,  which 
was  springing  into  being  under  the  eaves  of  the 
Pilgrim's  high- vaulted  interior.  It  must  be  ad- 
mitted that  Andy  drew  somewhat  upon  his 
imagination,  as,  indeed,  he  was  prone  to  do;  for 
the  design  to  which  he  paid  this  tribute,  far  from 
being  of  a  martial  hue,  was  done  in  a  subdued 
mouse-color,  against  a  background  of  the  faintest 
possible  hint  of  pearl. 

"  There  's  life  in  the  old  bank  yet,"  Wilkinson 
opined,  with  the  comfortable  chuckle  which  only 
the  very  stout  know  the  secret  of. 

"  Since  we  set  up  a  boy,  there  's  no  telling 
what  lengths  the  board  may  go  to,"  said  Harvey 
170 


An  Unlucky  Windfall  171 

Winch.  "  Here,  Tim,  take  these  letters  out  to 
the  box." 

"Yes,  sir  !" 

The  boy,  a  meagre-looking  youngster  of  fifteen 
winters — he  had  not  the  appearance  of  having 
enjoyed  any  summers — sprang  forward  with  an 
alacrity  which  presented  a  favorable  contrast  to 
the  somewhat  cumbersome  movements  of  the 
janitor  proper,  to  say  nothing  of  Flynn's  air  of 
studied  leisure.  Up  to  this  time,  but  one  fault 
had  been  discovered  in  Tim, — he  chewed  gum 
every  hour  of  the  day.  Moved  by  Truxton's 
dismal  suggestion  that  it  was  probably  all  the 
nourishment  he  got,  the  men  had  allowed  him  to 
chew  on,  unmolested,  though  to  the  stricter  dis- 
ciplinarians of  the  gang — Rathbone,  for  instance, 
and  Polly  Voo — such  an  indulgence  accorded  ill 
with  the  dignity  of  the  institution.  As  to  the 
higher  bank  officials,  Tim  was  too  small  to  come 
within  their  range  of  vision  at  all. 

"  They  do  say,"  Truxton  observed,  as  he 
opened  the  cash-box,  and  busied  himself  with  a 
parcel  of  bills, — "  they  do  say  that  we  are  to  have 
new  light-shades  next  month." 

"  That 's  what  I  call  an  orge  of  extravagance," 
Audy  Stone  declared,  turning,  in  response  to  the 
first  applicant  of  the  day,  who  thrust  out  her 
book,  between  the  leaves  of  which  a  lonely  dollar 
bill  was  secreted. 

"  You  wish  to  make  a  deposit,  madam  ?  " 

"  Naw,  sir  ;  I  wants  to  putt  it  in  !  " 


172  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

This  carefully  explicit  lady  was  speedily  fol- 
lowed by  others,  of  greater  or  less  familiarity  with 
business  terms,  and  conversation  ceased.  It  was 
the  first  Saturday  in  September,  and  things  were 
pretty  lively  for  all  concerned,  owing  to  the  vaca- 
tion absence  of  two  of  the  clerks.  Truxton  had 
petitioned  for  the  latest  possible  date  for  his  fort- 
night, being  anxious  to  get  his  own  private  affairs 
in  running  order  before  quitting  the  field.  He 
was  about  to  start  by  the  Monday  boat  on  a  trip 
to  Nova  Scotia  with  Stone  and  Rathbone,  and 
meanwhile  he  had  been  acting  as  Plummer's  sub- 
stitute. It  was  his  first  experience  as  paying- 
teller,  and  though  he  found  it  strenuous  work,  he 
liked  it.  And  although,  under  the  pressure  of 
unaccustomed  responsibility,  he  could  not  abandon 
himself  as  freely  as  usual  to  the  enjoyment  of  his 
fellow-creatures  and  their  vagaries,  yet  he  found 
his  task  not  devoid  of  human  interest. 

Truxton  possessed  a  readiness  of  resource  which 
stood  him  in  good  stead  in  his  dealings  with  the 
recalcitrant  depositor.  It  was  aptly  illustrated 
on  this  very  morning,  when  there  appeared  before 
him  a  well-dressed  and  moderately  intelligent 
woman,  bearing  an  order  for  a  hundred  dollars, 
to  be  paid  .on  the  book  of  an  absent  depositor. 
Unfortunately  for  her,  there  was  some  irregularity 
in  the  signature  which  made  it  impossible  to 
honor  the  draft. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  Truxton  declared,  with 
the  patient  sympathy  which  he  was  never  too 


An  Unlucky  Windfall  173 

hurried  to  bestow  upon  a  disappointed  applicant ; 
' '  but  you  will  have  to  send  this  back  and  get  it 
properly  signed." 

"  Well,"  she  exclaimed,  after  some  futile  pro- 
test,— "  well,  I  don't  suppose  anybody  can  make 
the  Pilgrim  Savings  Bank  do  anything  it  does  n't 
choose  to," — and  there  was  arraignment  in  the 
very  pronunciation  of  the  bank's  name  and  title, 
— "  but,  if  you  '11  excuse  my  saying  so,  it  seems 
to  me  there  is  about  as  much  difference  as  there 
is  between  tweedledum  and  tweedledee." 

"  You  've  hit  it  exactly,"  Truxton  exclaimed, 
in  his  most  candid  manner  ;  ' '  the  whole  effort  of 
the  bank,  in  these  little  formalities,  is  to  make 
sure  that  Tweedledum  does  n't  draw  out  the 
money  of  Tweedledee.  And  you  have  no  idea, ' ' 
he  added,  confidentially,  ' '  what  a  sharp  lookout 
we  have  to  keep  for  the  sake  of  both  parties  ! ' ' 

The  depositor's  face  cleared.  Either  the 
picturesqueness  of  the  proposition,  or  Truxton's 
beguiling  good  temper  had  won  the  day,  and  the 
good  old  Pilgrim  was  restored  to  favor  with  a 
friend  of  many  years'  standing. 

' '  You  did  that  very  neatly, ' '  said  a  grave,  ap- 
proving voice,  close  at  hand,  and,  looking  up, 
Truxton  caught  a  friendly  twinkle  in  no  less 
august  an  eye  than  that  of  the  treasurer-in- 
chief.  This  important  personage  was  an  unusual 
apparition  at  the  counter,  and  Truxton  gave  him 
a  nod  of  pleasant  good-comradeship  which  the  old 
gentleman  relished  mightily. 


1 74  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

Mr.  Rufus  Seymour  thought  he  remembered 
that  this  was  the  man  who  got  his  place  on 
the  recommendation  of  the  late  Sam  Reynolds. 
Bright  fellow  the  young  chap  seemed  to  be. 
Must  have  a  level  head,  too,  or  Smith  would  not 
have  trusted  him  with  the  paying-teller's  work. 

"Could  you  spare  $10,000  in  bills?"  the 
treasurer  asked.  "They  've  run  short  at  the 
Seventh  National  next  door,  and  have  sent  in  to 
us." 

Truxton  probably  owed  this  explanation,  which 
took  place  while  he  was  counting  out  the  required 
amount,  to  the  fact  that  Sam  Reynolds  and  Rufus 
Seymour  used  to  snowball  each  other  in  the  early 
'3o's.  He  took  a  gold  certificate  for  $10,000  in 
return  for  the  bills,  and,  placing  it  in  the  drawer, 
reverted  to  the  humbler  details  of  his  work.  He 
was  too  inexperienced  to  know  that  the  trans- 
action was  an  unprecedented  one,  or  that  the 
cash-box  had  probably  never  before  entertained 
so  portentous  a  lodger. 

The  weather  was  oppressively  warm,  and  pre- 
sently Truxton  got  hold  of  Tim  and  sent  him  to 
fetch  a  linen  coat  which  he  kept  on  hand  for 
such  exigencies  of  temperature.  Seizing  a  leisure 
ten  seconds  he  stepped  behind  a  friendly  pillar, 
and  accomplished  the  transit  from  one  coat  to 
the  other,  and  those  ten  seconds  proved  to  be 
the  limit  of  his  recess  for  that  morning. 

To  Flynn  this  busy  day  was  a  very  tedious 
one  ;  for,  while  the  throng  at  the  counter  was  not 


An  Unlucky  Windfall  175 

sufficient  to  confer  upon  him  the  brief  authority 
of  sheep-dog,  his  various  friends  were  too  fully 
occupied  to  pay  him  the  attention  which  he  pre- 
tended to  scorn,  but  which  was,  in  reality,  meat 
and  drink  to  him.  To-day  he  was  not  even  sent 
forth  after  that  midday  provender,  the  gathering 
of  which  was  one  of  his  most  highly  esteemed 
functions,  and,  when  it  became  clear  that  it  would 
not  be  permitted  him  to  forage  for  his ' '  protejay, ' ' 
he  sank  into  a  mood  of  deep  dejection.  This, 
however,  could  not  long  endure  in  a  sage  of  his 
fertility  of  resource,  and  at  last,  taking  matters 
into  his  own  hands,  the  old  man  sallied  forth, 
and  presently  returned  triumphant,  concealing 
something  under  his  coat-tails. 

Edging  close  up  to  Truxton  he  whispered,  with 
his  most  insinuating  inflection,  "  Sure,  sorr,  ye  '11 
step  up  back  there  and  take  a  taste  of  tomato 
soup  !  " 

"  Great  Scott,  Flynn!  what  should  I  want  of 
tomato  soup?"  Truxton  exclaimed;  and  then, 
as  the  pungent  odor  assailed  his  nostrils,  and  it 
dawned  upon  him  that  the  old  fellow  had  actually 
invested  his  own  capital  in  this  unfortunate  selec- 
tion, he  added,  good-naturedly  :  ' '  That  is,  I 
have  n't  got  time,  just  yet.  Set  it  away  some- 
where, till  I  can  turn  round. ' ' 

Only  half  approving,  Flynn  proceeded  on  his 
way,  all  unconscious  that  his  pail  was  leaking, 
and  that  drops  of  scarlet  fluid  marked  his  progress 
over  the  floor. 


1 76  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

"Here,  Flynn,  what  have  you  got  there?" 
asked  James  Judson,  as  the  dripping  apparition 
passed  his  desk. 

1 '  Nothing,  sorr,  nothing  at  all, ' '  Flynn  replied, 
with  haughty  reserve  ;  and  it  is  on  record  that 
not  a  smile  flickered  across  Judson' s  serious 
countenance,  as  he  watched  the  progress  of  the 
culprit,  noting,  with  cold  disapproval,  every  gory 
drop  that  decorated  his  path. 

But  Rathbone  summoned  Flynn,  and  told  him 
that  if  he  did  not  wash  up  those  bloody  tracks  he 
would  be  indicted  for  murder  ;  upon  which  the 
pilgrim  sage,  with  a  sceptical  ' '  I  doubt  it  !  " 
wandered  off  in  search  of  Tim. 

Now,  in  Tim's  mind,  the  old  janitor's  authority 
was  as  unquestioned  as  that  of  Mr.  Seymour  him- 
self ;  more  so,  in  fact,  for  the  treasurer  seldom  had 
occasion  to  exercise  authority  over  Tim,  whereas 
Flynn  appeared  to  labor  under  the  impression 
that  the  new  boy  had  been  expressly  engaged 
as  body-servant  to  himself.  Accordingly  the 
youngster  was  promptly  set  to  work  obliterating 
the  signs  of  guilt,  laboring,  the  while,  quite  as 
industriously  with  his  gum-blest  jaws  as  with 
his  scrubbing  hands. 

"  An'  yez  had  betther  kape  an  eye  on  Misther 
Trooxton,  and  clane  up  under  his  desk  whin  yez 
gets  the  chance  ;  "  with  which  admonition  Flynn, 
quite  exhausted,  returned  to  the  consideration  of 
the  Morning  Trumpeter. 

At  last  it  was  two  o'clock  and  the  great  doors 


An  Unlucky  Windfall  177 

were  closed.  One  by  one  the  remaining  de- 
positors found  their  way  out,  Flynn  opening  the 
door  with  careful  calculation  as  to  the  exact  space 
requisite  for  the  egress  of  each  figure.  The  bank 
officials,  too,  took  their  departure,  Stone  and 
Rathbone  among  the  first  to  go. 

"  All  aboard  at  twelve  on  Monday,"  Andy 
Stone  called,  in  cheerful  accents,  on  his  way  past 
Truxton's  corner. 

"  Boat  ahoy  !  "  came  the  response  from  Trux- 
ton,  as  he  tied  up  a  parcel  of  bills,  and  made  a 
jotting  of  amounts  on  a  slip  of  paper. 

It  would  have  seemed  that  the  boat  might 
shortly  be  called  into  requisition  on  terra  firma, 
for  a  portentous  thunder-storm  was  gathering. 
Truxton  was  so  absorbed  in  his  work  that  he 
hardly  noticed  how  dark  it  was  growing  ;  yet  he 
mechanically  turned  up  an  electric  light  over  his 
desk  and  went  on  with  his  count.  Each  time  the 
door  was  opened  and  closed  a  gust  of  wind  came 
in  ;  but  the  refreshment  of  it  was  more  noticeable 
than  anything  else  in  the  close  interior,  redolent 
as  always  of  the  masses,  with,  to-day,  a  strong 
admixture  of  turpentine. 

There  had  been  an  unusual  amount  of  business 
transacted  for  the  season  of  the  year,  and  it  was 
after  three  o'clock  before  the  cash  was  straight- 
ened out.  At  last  the  orderly  packages  of  bills 
were  stored  away  in  the  cash-box,  the  gold  cer- 
tificate being  fastened  by  a  separate  rubber-band 
to  the  top  package,  that  it  might  at  once  attract 


1 78  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

Pluuimer's  eye,  when  the  lid  of  the  box  was 
lifted. 

Meanwhile,  a  great  hammering  at  the  front 
door  made  itself  heard  above  the  rolling  thunder, 
which  was  now  in  full  voice,  and  just  as  Truxton 
was  about  to  close  and  lock  the  box,  preparatory 
to  carrying  it  to  the  safe,  a  telegram  was  handed 
him.  Its  contents  must  have  been  of  an  agitating 
nature,  for  his  mind  became,  for  the  moment,  en- 
tirely detached  from  his  cash-box,  and  as  the 
door  opened  for  the  departing  messenger,  and  a 
great  gust  of  wind  swept  the  counter,  he  was  still 
too  absorbed  in  his  telegram  to  notice  the  snap- 
ping of  a  certain  rubber-band,  and  the  simultane- 
ous rising  of  one  of  the  bills,  as  if  on  wings. 
They  proved  to  be  but  futile  pinions,  and  the 
paper,  borne  down,  perhaps,  by  the  essential 
earthiness  of  filthy  lucre,  fluttered  feebly  to  the 
floor  at  Truxton' s  feet.  He,  all  unconscious  of 
this  ambitious  but  abortive  flight,  returned  in  a 
moment  to  the  business  in  hand,  closed  and  locked 
his  box,  deposited  it  in  the  safe,  and  then  de- 
parted, with  a  preoccupied  nod  of  farewell  to 
Simon  Barry,  the  last  of  the  force  remaining  at 
his  desk. 

A  moment  later,  Tim,  who  was  in  no  haste  to 
go  out  in  the  rain,  bethought  himself  of  Flynn's 
command,  and,  getting  an  old  sponge,  repaired  to 
the  paying-teller's  counter,  his  mind  bent  upon 
that  which  is  next  to  godliness.  Next,  perhaps, 
but,  alas  !  too  far  removed,  on  this  occasion; 


An  Unlucky  Windfall  179 

for,  as  he  stooped  to  his  work,  his  eye  fell  upon 
a  crisp  bank-note,  curled  up  in  the  shadow,  and, 
seized  by  an  altogether  ungodly  impulse,  he 
picked  up  the  bill  and  stuffed  it  into  his  trousers 
pocket. 

The  act  was  a  purely  precautionary  one.  The 
boy  could  not  decide  at  once  upon  any  particular 
line  of  action,  but  at  least  he  would  keep  the 
game  in  his  own  hands.  He  gave  but  a  glance  at 
the  bill  as  he  pocketed  it,  but  that  glance  was 
sufficient  to  reveal  the  fact  that  it  was  nothing 
less  than  a  "  tenner,"  a  sum  which  represented 
untold  riches  to  his  dazzled  imagination.  Yet 
his  short  service  at  the  bank  had  been  sufficient 
to  impress  him  with  the  immensity  of  its  financial 
resources,  and  it  seemed  to  him  quite  possible 
that  the  loss  even  of  a  "  tenner ' '  might  pass 
unnoticed. 

Still  down  upon  his  knees,  and  scrubbing  with 
deceptive  zeal  at  the  already  spotless  boards,  he 
glanced  furtively  about  the  place.  The  painters 
had  stopped  work  at  noon,  and  the  only  living 
creature  besides  himself  in  that  great  interior  was 
Simon  Barry,  standing  at  his  desk  with  his  back 
to  Tim.  It  was  hardly  probable  that  old  Barry 
had  eyes  in  the  back  of  his  head,  though  such 
weird  fancies  are  pretty  sure  to  suggest  them- 
selves to  the  mind  of  the  evil-doer.  But  then,  as 
Tim  might  have  reasoned,  in  his  dim  substitute 
for  an  intellect,  he  was  not  yet  an  evil-doer.  Of 
course  he  had  to  pick  up  the  bill  and  put  it  in  his 


1 80  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

pocket  for  the  moment.  He  could  not  scrub  floors 
and  keep  his  eyes  on  loose  bills  at  the  same  time  ; 
he  was  not  paid  three  dollars  a  week  and  obliged 
to  pass  every  penny  of  it  into  the  family  exchequer 
for  that  !  Yet,  it  must  be  admitted  that  from  the 
outset  his  mind  dwelt  by  preference  upon  one  side 
of  the  question,  namety,  that  the  money  would 
probably  never  be  missed,  and  that,  even  if  it 
were,  no  one  could  guess  where  it  had  gone. 
The  necessary  inference  is,  that  Tim's  moral 
nature  was  not  highly  developed,  for  when  once 
he  had  got  to  his  feet,  and  had  walked  past  Simon 
Barry  without  being  found  out,  he  was  well  on 
the  road  to  regarding  himself  as  the  undisputed 
owner  of  the  bill. 

Whether  the  money  would  have  been  spent 
without  retributory  pangs  of  a  tardy  conscience, 
is  a  question  that  will  never  be  answered,  for  Tim 
was  destined  to  experience  an  unlooked-for  check 
in  the  downward  career  so  propitiously  begun  ;  a 
check  which  occurred  in  this  wise. 

When,  a  few  minutes  later,  the  young  trans- 
gressor had  accomplished  a  hasty  exit  from  the 
bank  and  found  himself  standing  in  the  rain  out- 
side, he  did  not  at  once  seek  the  seclusion  of  his 
own  home,  and  for  the  very  obvious  reason  that 
seclusion  was  not  to  be  found  there.  Given  a 
tenement  of  five  rooms  and  a  family  of  nine  per- 
sons, including  a  sharp-eyed  grandmother,  there 
was  little  opportunity  for  a  harassed  mind  to  take 
counsel  with  itself,  to  say  nothing  of  the  difficul- 


An  Unlucky  Windfall  181 

ties  in  the  way  of  that  ocular  gloating  over  his 
ill-gotten  gains  for  which  the  boy's  soul  thirsted. 
He  therefore  bent  his  eager  steps  toward  a  certain 
region  of  wharves  and  warehouses,  in  the  shadow 
of  which  were  sundry  flights  of  half-decayed 
wooden  stairs.  These  led  down  to  floating  piers, 
especially  secluded  at  low  tide,  where,  at  this 
hour  of  a  rainy  afternoon,  he  might  hope  to  be 
unobserved. 

Arrived  at  the  foot  of  one  of  these  flights,  he 
stepped  upon  the  slippery  float  and  gazed  cau- 
tiously about.  There  was  not  a  soul  in  sight  at 
the  windows  of  the  warehouses,  nor  along  the 
narrow  walk  at  their  base,  and  the  outlook  into 
the  mist-blurred  harbor  was  quite  cut  off  by  the 
great  black  stern  of  a  big  freighter  which  lay 
across  the  mouth  of  the  slip,  some  fifty  yards  dis- 
tant. The  rain  had  almost  ceased,  and  there  was 
a  distinct  brightening  in  the  west,  but  the  whole 
city  lay  between  him  and  that.  Somehow  he  did 
not  want  the  sun  to  come  out  just  yet,  and  lest 
it  should  surprise  him,  and  also  because  he  could 
not  longer  control  his  impatience,  he  pulled  the 
bill  from  his  pocket  and  spread  it  out  in  his  hands, 
the  better  to  study  its  ingratiating  features. 

At  this  juncture,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life, 
Tim  found  himself  compelled,  by  sudden  stress  of 
emotion,  to  sit  down,  and  he  did  so,  precipitately, 
upon  a  cold,  oozy  step  of  the  stairway.  Horri- 
fied, transfixed,  he  gazed  at  the  appalling  succes- 
sion of  cyphers  following  that  figure  10  which 


1 82  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

had  so  appealed  to  his  fancy,  and,  thanks  to  the 
laws  touching  compulsory  education,  he  was 
scholar  enough  to  perceive  that  the  value  of  this 
unlikely  bit  of  a  bill  which  he  held  in  his  hands 
was  nothing  less  than  ten  thousand  dollars  pay- 
able in  the  gold  coin  of  the  United  States  of 
America  ! 

Tim  sat  for  several  seconds  on  that  oozy  step, 
vainly  trying  to  grasp  the  enormity  of  the  situa- 
tion. Ten  thousand  dollars  !  He  believed  that 
was  a  million  !  He  sprang  to  his  feet,  breathing 
hard.  For  one  wild  moment  he  thought  of  him- 
self as  a  millionaire,  and  he  raised  his  eyes  to  a 
giant  warehouse,  looming  above  him,  while  a 
strange,  uncanny  exultation  possessed  itself  of 
his  soul.  Visions  of  splendor,  undefined  but  be- 
wildering, rose  before  his  mental  eye.  They 
strongly  resembled  some  of  the  scenes  at  a  circus, 
— the  recent  sight  of  which  he  owed  to  Truxton's 
munificence, — and  they  were  consequently  strong 
in  tinsel  and  fiery  steeds. 

And  at  this  point  in  his  meditations,  it  must  be 
recorded  in  justice  to  Tim,  his  hitherto  dormant 
conscience  turned  in  its  sleep.  It  might  be  no 
great  harm  to  steal  ten  dollars  from  an  institution 
that  was  rolling  in  riches,  but — to  steal  ten  thou- 
sand dollars  !  No — the  boy  that  did  that  would 
undoubtedly  go  to  hell  !  He  glanced  at  the  dark 
water  lapping  the  slimy  green  piles  of  the  wharf. 
It  was  dead-low  tide  and  the  shadows  were  hor- 
ribly black  in  under  there.  He  shuddered  as  if 


An  Unlucky  Windfall  183 

those  inky  depths  had  been  the  very  waters  of 
the  Styx. 

At  this  crucial  moment  the  sun  came  out,  and, 
striking  across  the  windows  of  a  certain  grim  ware- 
house over  yonder,  sent  a  piercing,  blinding  ray 
of  light  straight  into  the  boy's  eyes.  He  hastily 
stuffed  the  note  into  his  pocket  and,  climbing  the 
slippery  steps  with  all  celerity,  he  started  on  a 
run  for  the  Pilgrim  Savings  Bank. 

He  would  bang  on  the  door,  he  told  himself  as 
he  sped  along  the  great  business  thoroughfare ;  he 
would  bang  on  the  door  until  old  Barry  opened  it, 
and  then  he  would  say  he  had  forgotten  something 
— he  did  not  know  what,  for  indeed  Tim's  posses- 
sions were  not  numerous  enough  to  give  much 
scope  to  his  imagination  in  that  direction.  And 
while  he  was  yet  cudgelling  his  brain  on  this 
point  the  sight  of  a  policeman  at  one  of  the  cross- 
ings stayed  his  step.  It  would  never  do  to  have 
a  ' '  cop ' '  ask  him  what  was  his  hurry  ;  that 
would  assuredly  have  been  the  end  of  Tim  !  But 
his  mental  processes  were  only  accelerated,  as  he 
walked  on  at  a  more  moderate  speed. 

Yes,  he  would  say  he  had  forgotten  something, 
and  then,  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
paying-teller's  desk,  he  would  drop  that  piece  of 
paper,  and  let  it  take  its  chances. 

And  presently  he  stood  before  the  heavy  door, 
and  he  banged  upon  it  until  his  knuckles  were 
bruised,  and  he  kicked  it  till  his  toes  ached,  and 
the  great  door  opposed  itself  to  him,  immovable, 


1 84 


One  of  the  Pilgrims 


inexorable  as  Fate.  And  Tim  knew  that  Simon 
Barry  had  gone  home,  and  that  that  door  was 
closed  to  him  as  fast  and  firm  as  ever  the  door  of 
Paradise  was  closed  to  a  sinner. 

For  two  hours  Tim  sat  on  the  step,  hoping,  with 
but  a  faint  and  failing  hope,  that  Simon  Barry 
might  still  appear;  and  when,  at  last,  the  boy  got 
to  his  feet,  and  walked  away,  it  was  with  a  heavy 
heart  and  a  harassed  brow.  Tim  had  learned  the 
great  lesson,  though  he  could  not  have  put  it  into 
words,  that  the  exercise  of  free-will  is  one  thing, 
and  its  consequences  another. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

FOREST  WAYS. 

TRUXTON,  meanwhile,  all  unconscious  of 
the  graver  issues  involved  in  Tim's  moral 
aberration,  was  inclined  to  consider  his 
telegram  and  the  proposition  contained  therein 
paramount  to  every  other  interest  that  life  af- 
forded. The  telegram  was  from  Shepleigh,  who 
was  off  for  the  wilds  of  Maine,  and  it  was  writ- 
ten with  the  exuberant  extravagance  which  char- 
acterized that  native  of  the  Golden  State  as  often 
as  he  had  a  desired  end  in  view.  Indeed,  it  was 
a  well-established  fact  that  Shepleigh  was  as 
prodigal  of  words  in  a  telegraphic  communication 
as  he  was  niggardly  in  his  epistolary  efforts. 

The  despatch  in  question  stated  with  all  ex- 
plicitness  that  the  Shepleighs,  who,  with  a  party 
of  friends,  were  bound  for  a  camping-out  'expe- 
dition, had  that  moment  learned  that  Truxton's 
vacation  coincided  with  their  dates,  and  it  further 
informed  him  that,  by  a  unanimous  vote,  he  had 
been  elected  a  member  of  the  party.  Nor  was 
185 


1 86  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

anything  left  to  his  imagination  in  the  way  of 
trains  or  routes,  or  touching  the  necessities  or 
superfluities  of  an  outfit;  so  that,  as  the  recipient 
noted,  with  amused  appreciation,  he  who  read 
might  run  !  How  Truxton  blessed  his  luck  in 
running  across  young  Caleb  Ware  the  day  before, 
when  the  latter  was  on  his  way  to  the  station  to 
join  his  sister  and  the  Shepleighs  ! 

The  two  young  men  had  compared  notes  as 
to  their  prospective  outings,  and  Truxton  could 
imagine  the  deliberateness  of  the  cogitations  on 
Caleb's  part  which  had  not  flowered  into  speech 
on  the  subject  until  after  he  had  slept  upon  it. 

Truxton  had  been  trained  in  boyhood  to  camp- 
life  ;  there  had  been  no  closer  bond  of  sympathy 
between  himself  and  his  father  than  their  common 
love  of  sport,  their  common  skill  in  woodcraft.  It 
was  a  taste,  indeed,  which  had  had  but  scant  grati- 
fication since  his  father's  death,  but  that  it  had 
lost  none  of  its  charm  would  have  been  evident 
in  the  quickening  of  the  pulse  with  which  he  had 
listened  to  Caleb's  account  of  his  prospects,  even 
before  he  knew  anything  of  the  composition  of  the 
party. 

Is  it  any  wonder,  then,  that  Truxton  accom- 
plished the  impossible  that  afternoon  ?  That, 
with  but  four  hours  to  spare,  he  got  his  tenement- 
house  business  wound  up,  his  valise  packed,  and 
his  rifle  and  shot-gun  cleaned  ?  That  he  found 
time  to  explain  his  change  of  plan  with  bewilder- 
ing brevity  to  his  aunt,  and  to  notify  Stone  and 


Forest  Ways  187 

Rathbone  of  his  defection  ?  And,  as  a  result  of 
this  output  of  executive  ability,  he  presently 
found  himself  comfortably  ensconced  in  the  east- 
bound  night-train,  wrapped  in  that  sense  of  peace 
and  satisfaction  which  descends  upon  the  good 
traveller  in  the  midst  of  the  rushing  and  roaring, 
the  jolting  and  jarring,  the  fitful  glares  and  the 
all-devouring  gloom  of  a  midnight  passage  across 
country. 

It  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  were  leaving  all  rela- 
tion with  his  every-day  life  behind  him  as  com- 
pletely as  the  bald  facts  of  it.  The  bank  was 
behind  him,  with  Flynn  and  the  cash-box  and 
the  incalculable  depositor ;  L,auncelot  Avenue 
was  gone,  and  Broad  Street,  the  Widow  O'Toole 
and  Mattie  Tripe.  Even  Aunt  Lucretia  was  be- 
coming dim,  receding  with  her  dignities  and 
eccentricities  and  the  very  dragon  on  the  front 
door  into  a  region  as  remote  to  his  thoughts  as 
that  which  they  had  occupied  a  few  years  ago 
when  all  the  period  of  his  youth  and  all  the  waves 
of  the  Atlantic  had  washed  between. 

And,  as  the  past  receded,  as  the  train  went 
rushing  and  roaring  through  the  night,  the  pres- 
ent took  on  a  curiously  picturesque  interest,  and 
there  arose  within  him  an  exultant  feeling  that 
all  the  forces  of  civilization  were  on  his  side. 
Electricity  had  summoned  him,  steam  was  bear- 
ing him  onward  ;  in  the  interval  the  telephone 
had  played  its  part,  and  the  electric  car  ;  and 
what  a  wonderful  system  that  was  by  which  a  slip 


1 88  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

of  paper  signed  with  the  modest  name  of  Frank 
Truxton  could  be  exchanged  at  a  moment's  notice 
for  sundry  government  obligations  of  assorted 
values  bearing  the  signature  of  the  Treasurer  of 
the  United  States  of  America  !  He  paused  with 
a  half-humorous  relish  upon  the  thought  that  to 
all  intents  and  purposes  the  one  signature  was 
as  valid  as  the  other  !  Then,  as  the  locomotive 
gave  a  prolonged  shriek  which  seemed  but  to 
accelerate  the  speed,  he  once  more  gave  himself 
up  to  the  joy  of  rushing  forward,  the  noisier,  the 
rougher  the  progress,  the  more  convincing  it 
seemed. 

Truxton  purposely  kept  his  mind  fixed  upon 
the  tangible,  indisputable  means  which  were  so 
squarely  within  his  grasp  ;  he  would  not  let  his 
thoughts  leap  forward  to  the  end.  That  would 
be  too  risky — Fate  might  resent  it  !  And  because 
a  subtle  aroma  of  hope  and  joy  had  touched  his 
spirit,  which  yet  he  would  not  trace  to  its  source, 
it  was  given  him  on  that  night  of  jolts  and  noises, 
of  air  heavy  with  cinders  and  vocal  from  time  to 
time  with  the  wails  of  a  too  youthful  passenger — 
on  just  this  night  of  all  nights  it  was  given  him 
to  perceive  the  poetry  of  common  things  as  he 
had  never  done  before.  And  if,  from  time  to 
time,  his  thoughts  approached  the  limit  which  they 
had  so  long  recognized  and  deferred  to,  they 
never  once  overstepped  it.  One  of  these  days, 
perhaps — one  of  these  days — but  meanwhile  how 
the  train  banged  and  roared  !  He  could  have 


Forest  Ways  189 

hugged  that  splendid  old  engine  in  sheer  grati- 
tude and  exultation. 

Nor  did  he  ever  entirely  forget  the  vigorous 
steed  of  steam  when,  in  the  days  that  followed,  he 
strolled  through  lonely  "  tote-roads,"  or  glided 
to  the  stroke  of  the  paddle  down  shallow  streams 
or  across  the  peaceful  bosom  of  a  forest  lake. 

"  I  don't  suppose  we  should  know  how  lovely 
this  was,"  he  said  one  day  to  Ruth,  "if  we 
hadn't  roared  and  racketed  to  get  here." 

It  was  their  third  day  in  camp,  but  to  Truxton 
it  was  the  beginning  of  everything,  for  Ruth  was 
reclining  for  the  first  time  in  the  bow  of  his  canoe, 
dreamily  watching  the  dip  of  his  paddle  and  all 
the  delicate  stirring  of  the  quiet  waters  that  broke 
and  dimpled,  lapped  and  whispered  to  the  stroke. 

' '  Did  we  racket  and  roar  ?  ' '  she  asked  ;  "I 
don't  believe  I  remember." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  we  racketed  and  roared.  If  we 
had  not  we  should  not  care  so  much  about  this. ' ' 

"  You  think  not  ?" 

"  Don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  'm  afraid  somebody  will  have  to  do  my 
thinking  for  me.  I  can't  get  beyond  the  ripple 
your  paddle  makes.  Is  there  anything  else  going 
on  jn  all  the  world,  I  wonder  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  there  's  a  shadow  passing  across  that 
dear  old  hump  of  a  mountain  behind  you. 
Wait  !  "  and  Truxton  turned  the  canoe  that 
Ruth  might  look  into  the  deep,  brooding  heart 
of  the  mountain. 


190  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

"  Thank  you,"  she  murmured,  lazily.  "  If  this 
were  to  go  on  forever  we  should  forget  how  to 
turn  our  heads. ' ' 

"  No  harm,  that,  since  we  should  not  need  to," 
Truxton  declared  with  conviction. 

He  liked  the  desultoriuess  of  the  talk  ;  it 
seemed  to  keep  things  just  where  they  were, 
despite  the  fact  that  the  canoe  itself  was  gradually 
making  for  the  shore.  As  they  drew  near  the 
beach,  beyond  which  the  camp-fire  was  burning 
and  the  tents  gleaming  white  among  the  trees,  a 
shot  resounded  with  the  startling  suddenness 
which  is  so  marked  a  characteristic  of  firearms  ! 

"  How  rude  !  "  Ruth  exclaimed.  The  lively 
resentment  of  her  tone  roused  an  answering  feel- 
ing in  the  oarsman's  mind. 

"It  's  Shepleigh,  shooting  at  a  sand-peep — 
with  a  rifle,  too,  the  savage  !  Try  again,  Will," 
he  sang  out,  as  the  canoe  glided  nearer  the  shore  ; 
"  he  does  n't  seem  to  take  your  point  !  "  And 
indeed  the  peep  had  continued  tilting  about  on 
the  edge  of  the  water  some  sixty  yards  away, 
quite  unconcerned  with  the  roaring  echoes  that 
answered  to  his  enemy's  shot. 

1 '  I  was  only  signalling  for  supper, ' '  Shepleigh 
retorted  ;  "  I  thought  I  would  invite  Mr.  Peep 
to  join  us.  The  stew  's  done,  and  you  're  the 
last  in." 

' '  Here  ;  let  me  have  it, ' '  said  Harkness  Dole, 
who  had  sauntered  up  behind  Shepleigh.  Trux- 
ton's  canoe  was  close  in  shore  as  Dole  raised  the 


Forest  Ways  191 

gun  to  his  shoulder,  and,  with  a  cursory  glance 
along  the  barrel,  fired.  A  scattering  wisp  of 
feathers  floated  through  the  air  and  sank  into 
the  tiny  wavelets  of  the  little  beach. 

"  Pretty  shot  !  "  Shepleigh  cried. 

"  Oh,"  Ruth  gasped  ;  "  I  wish  he  had  n't  !  " 

A  curious  feeling  of  indignation  seized  upon 
Truxton  and,  as  he  beached  his  canoe  and  gave 
Ruth  a  hand  to  shore,  he  purposely  turned  his 
back  upon  the  two  men. 

"  Here,  Truxton,"  Dole  called,  reloading  the 
rifle  and  running  his  thumb  along  the  shining 
barrel  ;  "  there  's  a  chance  for  you.  Will  you  try 
it  ?  "  and  he  nodded  his  head  toward  another 
tiny  beach  where  another  sand-peep  was  running 
up  and  down  and  fluttering  its  soft  feathers  with 
the  eager  animation  of  its  kind. 

"  Thanks,"  said  Truxton,  curtly  ;  "  I  should 
rather  fire  at  something  nearer  my  own  size." 

Dole  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

' '  You  would  probably  have  a  better  chance  of 
hitting  it,"  he  answered,  composedly. 

"  Right  you  are  !  "  Truxton  agreed,  his  good 
temper  getting  the  better  of  him.  And  in 
truth  he  was  too  good  a  shot,  though  his  fellow- 
campers  did  not  know  it,  to  mind  the  thrust  par- 
ticularly. 

"Please  don't,  Harkness  ! "  Ruth  begged; 
for  Dole  had  raised  the  rifle  for  another  shot. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  he  queried  ;  but  he  lowered  the 
gun  and  transferred  his  attention  to  Ruth.  She 


1 9  2  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

was  standing  beside  him,  watching  the  glancing 
light  on  the  soft  plumage. 

"  They  are  so  happy,"  she  said  ;  "  and  so 
small  !  It  seems  like  murder  !  " 

"  More  so  than  shooting  partridges  ?  " 

' '  Of  course  !     We  eat  the  partridges. ' ' 

"Thou  shalt  not  commit  murder,"  Dole 
declaimed,  "  unless  for  thine  own  carnal  profit. 
See  the  revised  edition  of  the  Ten  Command- 
ments." 

"  Don't  be  too  logical,"  Shepleigh  cried,  "  or 
the  girls  will  all  turn  vegetarians,  and  won't  allow 
the  rest  of  us  to  have  any  biscuit  !  ' ' 

"  Oh,  Ruth  won't  be  vindictive,"  Dole  replied, 
with  easy  concession  ;  ' '  because  she  knows  she  is 
in  the  right  of  it." 

' '  And  you  will  never  shoot  another  peep  ?  ' ' 
Ruth  asked,  as  they  turned  to  stroll  up  the  beach 
to  their  supper.  Truxton,  walking  behind  with 
Shepleigh,  could  see  Dole's  face  as  he  looked 
into  Ruth's  earnest,  half-beseeching,  half-chal- 
lenging eyes. 

"  Never,"  he  answered,  simply. 

"  Mr.  Partridge  and  Mr.  Rabbit  were  more 
polite  than  Mr.  Peep  when  I  invited  them  to  sup- 
per," Shepleigh  remarked,  in  modest  reference  to 
his  own  prowess,  as  he  handed  Ruth  a  tin  plate 
filled  with  savory  morsels  of  game. 

"  I  wonder  who  will  get  the  muskrat,"  Jim 
Foxborough  speculated,  gravely,  fishing  about  in 
the  kettle  as  if  in  anxious  search. 


Forest  Ways  193 

"The  what?"  cried  his  sister  Daisy,  with 
gratifying  consternation. 

Curiously  enough,  Miss  Daisy  did  not  look 
quite  so  ' '  woodsy  ' '  here,  in  the  heart  of  the 
forest,  as  she  had  done  at  the  Shepleigh  dinner- 
party. To  Truxton's  thinking,  at  least,  it  was 
Ruth  who  seemed  most  naturally  at  home  among 
the  green  shadows  and  the  sifting  sunshine,  it 
was  Ruth's  voice  that  seemed  next  of  kin  to  the 
voices  of  nature.  Yet  Daisy  Foxborough  was, 
nevertheless,  a  very  picturesque  feature  of  a 
picturesque  scene. 

"  The  muskrat,"  her  brother  repeated,  gravely. 
"  They  are  delicious  eating,  Mrs.  Shepleigh,  but 
we  only  got  one,  and  I  am  dreadfully  afraid  you 
ladies  may  miss  it." 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  discovered  it  at  once  !  "  Mrs. 
Shepleigh  retorted,  with  gentle  leisureliness. 
' '  They  are  considered  a  great  delicacy  in  Vir- 
ginia, where  I  used  to  visit. ' ' 

Clearly,  Mrs.  Shepleigh' s  wits  did  not  partake 
of  the  slowness  of  her  speech. 

"  O  Clara  !  I  wish  Jim  were  your  brother  !  " 
Daisy  exclaimed  ;  "  he  needs  somebody  to  deal 
with  him,  and  I  never  arrive  in  time. ' ' 

"_That  is  because  you  start  too  soon,"  was  the 
reply  ;  and  Mrs.  Shepleigh  leaned  back  among 
the  roots  of  a  big  pine-tree,  a  very  comfortable 
throne,  which  she  had  appropriated  by  virtue  of 
her  dignity  as  chaperone. 

Mrs.  Shepleigh  was  the  only  member  of  the 


1 94  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

company  whose  function  was  purely  passive.  A 
chaperone,  she  was  wont  to  explain,  is  a  person 
who  lives  and  lets  live.  It  is  her  first  duty  to  set 
an  example  of  doing  as  you  please.  The  chape- 
rone  in  question  never  took  a  hand  in  the  camp 
work,  and  this  in  itself  gave  her  an  unique  posi- 
tion, for  the  camp  was  nothing  if  not  cooperative. 
If  Dan  Warnick,  the  sole  guide,  performed  rather 
more  of  the  manual  labor  than  anyone  else,  it  was 
because  his  muscles  were  in  better  training  and 
his  endurance  greater. 

Dan  was  a  fine,  stalwart  young  fellow  who  could 
not  be  said  to  despise  social  distinctions,  since  he 
was  absolutely  unaware  of  their  existence.  His 
respect  for  his  fellow- workers  was  founded  upon 
their  strength  in  felling  trees  and  handling  gunny- 
bags,  their  prowess  with  rod  and  gun  ;  his  regard 
for  Ruth  and  Daisy  grew  as  the  skill  increased 
with  which  they  could  lay  a  carefully  thatched 
bed  of  fir-branches,  or  ply  the  stern  paddle  of 
a  canoe.  And  3ret  there  was  an  inconsistent 
deference  in  his  treatment  of  Mrs.  Shepleigh,  the 
only  unblushing  idler  of  the  company,  which  went 
to  show  that  the  most  primitive  nature  has  its 
little  involutions  and  obscurities. 

All  had  a  hand  in  the  cooking,  and  the  results, 
if  sometimes  problematical,  never  lacked  that 
dramatic  interest  of  which  Jim  Foxborough  had 
just  tried  to  take  undue  advantage.  The  com- 
position of  the  stew,  especially,  was  left  largely 
to  chance,  each  member  of  the  company  con- 


Forest  Ways  195 

tributing  whatever  seemed  to  him  desirable.  At 
the  same  time,  individual  aptitudes  received 
prompt  recognition.  To  Caleb  Ware,  the  ac- 
knowledged champion  of  the  rod,  was  further 
conceded  supremacy  in  the  frying  of  trout  ;  Shep- 
leigh  knew  the  secret  of  mixing  biscuit,  his  huge 
hands  possessing  a  lightness  of  touch  which  the 
girls  themselves  could  not  rival  ;  while  Harkness 
Dole,  squatting,  with  a  sardonic  grin,  before  the 
scorching  embers,  could  toss  a  flapjack  higher, 
and  catch  it  more  deftly  than  even  Truxton,  who 
had  indulged  in  modest  visions  of  distinguishing 
himself  in  that  line.  In  fact,  Dole  had  an  exas- 
perating way  of  doing  things  better  than  anyone 
else  ;  he  had  even  developed  an  uncanny  gift, 
that  seemed  to  partake  of  the  nature  of  second- 
sight,  in  regard  to  the  weather. 

"  There  's  my  thunder-storm,"  he  remarked, 
as  he  skillfully  conveyed  a  flapjack  of  enormous 
dimensions  from  the  frying-pan  to  a  plate  which 
Daisy  held  expectant ;  and,  at  the  word,  a  low 
muttering  became  audible,  apparently  somewhere 
in  the  depths  of  the  forest  behind  them. 

"  Harkness  makes  his  prophecies  so  long  in 
advance  that  we  forget  all  about  them  unless  they 
happen  to  come  true  !  "  It  was  Caleb  Ware  who 
broke  through  his  accustomed  taciturnity  to  cast 
discredit  upon  the  prophet.  Mrs.  Shepleigh  had 
promised  to  go  out  with  him  on  the  lake  that 
evening,  and  here  was  Harkness '  spoiling  ev- 
erything with  his  uncalled-for  thunder-storms  ! 


1 96  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

Caleb  liked  Mrs.  Shepleigh  ;  she  never  talked 
too  fast. 

Darkness  was  gathering  early,  and  the  light 
from  the  camp-fire  shone  brighter.  The  melan- 
choly voice  of  a  loon  was  heard,  close  inshore, 
causing  Shepleigh  to  seize  a  gun  and  hasten  to 
the  water's  edge  with  intent  to  kill.  But  the 
loon,  more  wary  than  the  peep,  had  taken  alarm 
and  vanished  under  water,  only  to  reappear,  with 
a  derisive  laugh,  well  out  of  range. 

As  Dole's  last  flapjack  fulfilled  its  mission,  the 
company  rose  to  its  feet  and  fell  upon  the  dishes, 
while  darkness  thickened  swiftly.  A  hoot-owl 
joined  his  lamentations  to  the  weird  derision  of 
the  loon,  and  Warnick,  overcome  by  the  melan- 
choly suggestions  of  the  hour,  began  a  tuneful 
wail  to  the  effect  that  he  had  "  lost  his  wife  and 
child,  and  never  more  had  smiled,  but  still  went 
roaming  on  from  place  to  place. ' ' 

1 '  Oh,  give  us  a  rest,  Dan  !  ' '  cried  Shepleigh  ; 
for  that  red-handed  murderer  of  small  game  was 
easily  lacerated  in  his  feelings.  ' '  You  never  had 
a  wife  and  child  to  lose  ;  you  know  you  did  n't  !  " 

"  Me  !  I  guess  not  !  "  was  Dan's  cheerful  re- 
ply. Then,  waxing  confidential,  he  paused, 
stew-kettle  in  hand,  to  say,  "  We  ain't  a  marry- 
ing lot,  any  of  us.  There  's  my  sister  now  ; 
she  's  a  real  smart  girl,  but  I  don't  believe  she 
ever  sot  up  with  a  feller  in  her  life. ' ' 

At  this  juncture  the  rain  began  falling  in  big 
drops  and  the  girls  hastily  took  refuge  in  their 


Forest  Ways  197 

tent,  the  generous  dimensions  of  which  were  a 
tangible  witness  to  the  thoroughgoing  character 
of  Yankee  chivalry ;  the  ladies'  quarters  being  at 
least  twice  as  large  as  those  devoted  to  the  men, 
who  outnumbered  them  two  to  one.  Caleb  and 
Jim  proceeded  to  haul  the  canoes  high  up  on  the 
beach  and  turn  them  bottom  upwards,  while  Dan 
and  Truxton  got  a  roaring  fire  started  before  the 
tent  that  should  outlive  any  civilized  thunder- 
storm. The  main  tent-ropes  were  tightened  and 
the  side-flies  fastened  taut  to  the  pegs.  Then, 
while  Ruth  and  Daisy  prepared  the  lime-juice 
toddy,  an  innocent  beverage  with  which  the  com- 
pany were  in  the  habit  of  regaling  themselves  at 
convivial  moments,  Mrs.  Shepleigh  decreed  that 
Dan  was  to  give  them  the  Lumberman 's  Ditty. 

The  young  man,  nothing  loath,  began  promptly 
in  a  sonorous  voice,  remarkably  melodious  and 
well-modulated,  considering  its  source : 

"  A  is  for  Axes  you  very  well  know, 
B  is  the  Boys  that  can  use  them  also  ; 
C  is  the  Chopping  which  we  put  them  in, 
D  is  the  Danger  we  ofttimes  are  in  !  " 

Upon  which  the  entire  company,  with  a  gusto 
which  testified  to  appreciative  familiarity,  joined 
in  the  chorus : 

"  For  so  merry,  oh,  so  merry  are  we, 
No  mortals  on  earth  are  so  merry  as  we  ! 
Hi  derry,  hi  derry,  hi  derry  down, 
Give  a  shanty-boy  rum  and  there   's  nothing  goes 
wrong ! " 


198  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

This  chorus,  even  to  its  highly  immoral  ending 
was  rendered  with  great  spirit  by  all  concerned, 
Shepleigh  adding  much  to  the  effect  by  the  vigor 
of  his  untuneful  bellowing. 

The  rain  had  become  a  downpour,  and  before 
resuming  his  performance,  Dan  stepped  outside 
and  flung  a  huge  birch-bark  log  on  the  fire,  caus- 
ing it  to  blaze  up  with  unquenchable  enthusiasm. 
As  he  came  in,  he  gave  himself  a  shake,  which 
sent  the  drops  flying  in  every  direction,  and,  re- 
marking that  he  would  "  as  lief  have  a  regular 
rain  as  a  shower  like  that  to  last  twenty-four 
hours, ' '  he  flung  himself  down  on  the  pine-boughs 
and  devoted  four  more  lines  to  the  Echo,  the 
Foreman,  the  Grindstone,  and  the  Handle,  re- 
spectively. And  again  the  company  joined  with 
unabated  ardor  in  the  chorus. 

' '  I  wish  you  boys  would  smoke  a  little  faster, ' ' 
Daisy  begged  ;  "  the  mosquitoes  have  all  come  in 
out  of  the  wet  and  we  want  a  regular  smudge  !  " 
She  had  gathered  herself  together  behind  her 
brother,  to  the  leeward  of  his  pipe,  and  even 
Truxton  was  forced  to  admit  that  her  black  eyes, 
shining  through  the  smoke  in  the  fitful  firelight, 
looked  very  like  the  eyes  of  some  forest  creature. 

So  the  five  men  puffed  and  pulled  with  renewed 
zeal,  while  the  abstemious  Dan,  who,  despite  his 
convivial  chorus,  neither  smoked  nor  drank, 
forged  his  melodious  way  through  the  alphabet 
in  praise  of  the  lumberman's  life.  All  irregulari- 
ties of  rhyme  and  metre  were  merged  in  the  swing 


Forest  Ways  199 

and  rhythm  of  his  performance,  and  the  imagina- 
tion was  constantly  stimulated  by  the  range  and 
variety  of  images  suggested. 

The  fourth  verse  was  a  special  favorite  by  reason 
of  the  catholic  liberality  with  which  it  touched 
upon  nature,  domestic  industry,  ornithology,  and 
woodcraft. 

"  M  is  the  Moss  that  we  find  in  our  camps, 
N  is  the  Needle  that  mended  our  pants ; 
O  is  the  Owl  that  hooted  at  night, 
P  is  the  Pine  that  we  always  fall  right !  " 

Only  at  the  end  does  the  poet's  invention  fail, 
and  after  stating  in  the  previous  verse  that  he  has 
"  sung  all  he  is  going  to  sing,"  he  frankly  admits 
the  quandary  and  substitutes  sentiment  for  techni- 
calities, declaring  : 

"  There  are  three  more  letters  I  can't  bring  in  rhyme, 
And  if  you  will  have  me,  pray  tell  me  in  time, 
For  the  cars  they  are  going,  the  whistle  doth  blow, 
So  fare  ye  well,  darling,  for  I  must  go  too  !  " 

and  once  more  the  chorus  rose  with  renewed 
energy,  and, 

"  Hi  derry,  hi  derry,  hi  derry  down," 

they  shouted,  till  the  sound  of  the  rain  on  the 
tent  was  lost,  and  the  fire  blazed  with  the  noise- 
lessness,  though  not  with  the  fixedness,  of  a 
pictured  flame.  The  pungent  odor  of  the  fir- 
branches  that  formed  the  floor  of  the  tent  pene- 


2OO  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

trated  the  "  smudge  "  of  tobacco  smoke,  and  the 
sense  of  the  forest  grew  so  near  and  intimate  that 
one  could  all  but  feel  the  breath  of  it  on  the 
cheek. 

As  the  chorus  came  to  an  end,  with  a  snap  like 
a  whip-lash — which  feature  of  the  performance 
was  Jim  Foxborough's  specialty — they  could 
again  hear  the  patter  of  the  rain,  but  it  was  some- 
what gentler  than  before. 

"  Now  the  Canoe-Song,  Mrs.  Shepleigh." 

It  was  Harkness  Dole  who  asked  it.  He  was 
leaning  back  in  the  shadow  where  the  firelight 
which  played  upon  the  other  faces  did  not  reach 
his.  Truxton  felt,  somehow,  as  if  he  had  taken 
that  position  with  malice  prepense  ;  it  gave  him 
an  advantage.  A  supposition  on  Truxton's  part 
which,  be  it  observed,  showed  that  he  had  allowed 
his  imagination  to  get  the  better  of  him. 

Mrs.  Shepleigh,  who  had  been  leaning  against 
her  husband's  broad  shoulder,  sat  forward  a  little, 
and,  clasping  her  hands  on  her  knees,  she  sang 
the  song  with  much  sweetness  and  simplicity, 
and  with  a  gentle  dreaminess  of  attitude  and  in- 
flection. As  she  sang,  the  rain  on  the  canvas, 
growing  ever  gentler,  tapped  a  rhythmic  accom- 
paniment to  the  lilt  of  words  and  music  : 

"  They  launched  their  light  birch  on  the  twilight  lake,— 

Oh,  was  it  a  lake,  or  was  it  a  dream  ? 
As  they  glided  away  they  could  see  in  their  wake 
The  light  of  the  camp-fire  ruddily  gleam. 


Forest  Ways  *  201 

"  The  dip  of  the  paddle  was  all  they  heard, 

Save  the  whispering  waves  on  the  slender  prow, 
And  each  in  the  silence  was  strangely  stirred 
By  a  fancy  which  neither  had  cared  to  avow. 

"  In  the  deepening  twilight  the  stars  came  out, 

And  down  in  the  water  they  sparkled  and  shone, 
So  bright  and  so  near,  there  could  be  no  doubt 
'T  were  easy  to  gather  them,  one  by  one. 

"  But  something  withheld  them,  they  did  not  dip 
For  the  stars  that  sparkled  so  bright  and  near, 
And  sweet  though  the  fancy  they  let  it  slip, 
And  floating  along  they  forgot  to  steer ; 

"  Till  at  last  their  bark  touched  the  shelving  shore, 

No  matter  how  loath  they  might  be  to  awake, 
The  fancy  was  flown  and  the  dream  was  o'er, 
And  they  left  the  stars  in  the  shimmering  lake  !  " 

"  It  's  too  long,  I  know,"  Mrs.  Shepleigh  ad- 
mitted, as  she  sank  back  into  an  ^easier  posture  ; 
' '  but  it  would  never  do  to  leave  them  out  on  the 
lake.  They  were  just  the  kind  of  people  to  get 
drowned." 

"Awful  duffer,  the  fellow  was,"  declared  Jim 
Foxborough  ;  "  might  have  seen,  with  half  an 
eye,  that  she  was  ready  to  tumble  ! ' ' 

44  Not  so  sure  of  that,"  Shepleigh  demurred, 
with  the  wisdom  of  experience.  "  A  fellow  never 
feels  sure." 

"  Perhaps  he  spoke  when  they  got  ashore," 
Caleb  suggested.  "  A  canoe  's  a  ticklish  place 
to  get  excited  in  !  " 


202  *  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

There  was  a  general  laugh  at  this  matter-of-fact 
view  of  the  subtleties  of  the  situation. 

' '  No,  he  never  spoke, ' '  said  Harkness  Dole,  in 
a  tone  of  quiet  authority. 

"  More  fool  he,"  Jim  retorted. 

"  What  do  you  say,  Truxton  ?  "  asked  Shep- 
leigh.  "  Did  he  ever  speak  ?  " 

' '  I  rather  think  that  is  something  that  nobody 
knows  but  the  man  who  wrote  the  verses." 

"  Mr.  Dole  thinks  he  knows,"  said  Daisy,  with 
mischievous  intent.  "  Did  you  write  the  poem, 
Mr.  Dole?"  and  she  twinkled  across  at  him  as 
she  had  done  on  a  previous  occasion  when  truth  in 
the  abstract  was  the  subject  of  her  investigations. 

Truth  in  the  concrete  seemed  to  fare  no  bet- 
ter, for  Dole,  replying,  ' '  Yes  ;  that,  and  Go  Not, 
Happy  Day,  are  considered  my  most  felicitous 
effusions,"  strolled  forth  into  the  night  and  the 
forest  dripping, with  moisture  and  pungent  odors. 

"  I  believe  he  did  write  it,"  said  Mrs.  Shep- 
leigh  ;  ' '  though  I  never  thought  of  it  before.  It 
was  he  who  gave  me  the  song  last  spring." 

"  Do  you  suppose  he  did,  Ruth  ?  "  Daisy  asked. 
' '  You  know  him  better  than  the  rest  of  us  do. ' ' 

"  I  've  no  idea,"  said  Ruth.  "  His  things  are 
usually  better  than  that." 

"  Is  there  anything  the  white  robin  can't  do  ?  " 
asked  Truxton,  a  few  minutes  later,  as  they  stood 
on  the  beach,  about  to  launch  the  canoes  for  an 
evening  paddle.  The  stars  were  coming  out 
among  the  clouds  and,  as  Caleb  had  demonstrated, 


Forest  Ways  203 

the  canoes  afforded  the  only  dry  foothold  outside 
the  tents. 

"  Yes,"  Ruth  answered,  with  a  thoughtful 
smile.  "  He  can't  be  like  other  people." 

' '  I  suppose  that  is  because  he  is  a  white  one ! ' ' 

"  I  don't  think  it  was  very  '  white  '  of  him  to 
leave  me  in  the  lurch  !  ' '  she  laughed.  ' '  I  knew 
by  the  way  he  went  tramping  over  those  sopping 
leaves  into  the  woods  that  he  had  forgotten  all 
about  having  asked  me  to  go  out  this  evening  !  " 

"  You  can't  expect  me  to  resent  that,"  was 
Truxton's  daring  rejoinder,  "  since  I  am  to 
be  the  gainer  !  " — the  temerity  of  which  state- 
ment consisted  in  the  fact  that  Ruth  had  not  yet 
accepted  him  as  substitute.  "  There  's  really  no- 
body left,  you  know,"  he  urged,  growing  a  little 
anxious  ;  "for  Jim  's  gone  for  a  bath,  and  the 
others  are  all  paired  off. ' ' 

' '  I  was  thinking  of  paddling  my  own  canoe, ' ' 
Ruth  demurred.  "  That  seems  so  much  more 
appropriate  for  a  deserted  damsel. ' ' 

"  Then  won't  you  take  me  as  passenger  ?  " 

' '  Well,  yes,  I  might, ' '  she  answered,  with  a 
properly  judicial  hesitation;  "  though  I  am  afraid 
it  will  rather  destroy  the  effect. ' ' 

The  little  fleet  made  a  picture  as  it  floated  for 
a  moment  in  the  ruddy  glow  from  the  camp-fires. 
Then,  as  the  birches  stole  apart  in  the  darkness, 
the  tiny  light  of  a  candle  flickered  at  each  prow, 
and  dropped  a  thin,  golden  ray  into  the  water, 
grown  still  as  any  mirror. 


204  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

Above  the  woods,  where  the  faithless  Harkness 
had  disappeared,  a  black  remnant  of  the  receding 
storm  hung  tattered  and  shorn  of  its  menace,  and 
somewhere  over  there  a  hoot-owl  screamed. 
From  Caleb  Ware's  canoe,  which  was  not  far 
away,  came  Clara  Shepleigh's  voice  from  time  to 
time,  singing  snatches  of  the  Canoe-Song  : 

"And  down  in  the  water  they  sparkled  and  shone, 
So  bright  and  so  near,  there  could  be  no  doubt 
'T  were  easy  to  gather  them,  one  by  one." 

And,  after  all,  the  paddle,  whose  gentle  dip  kept 
time  with  the  music,  was  in  Truxton's  hands,  for 
Ruth  had  let  him  have  his  way. 


CHAPTER    XV. 


A  GOOD   SHOT. 

TRUXTON'S  sentiments  towards  Harkness 
Dole  were  becoming  somewhat  mixed  ; 
and,  indeed,  aside  from  any  consideration 
of  conflicting  interests,  there  was  that  in  the  elder 
man's  personality  which  rarely  failed  to  stimulate 
curiosity.      Though  the  familiar  companion  of 
most  of  the  party,  he  was  something  of  a  puzzle 
to  all. 

In  his  public  life  Dole  was  an  adroit  politician, 
and  events  were  apt  to  demonstrate  that  he  be- 
longed to  the  more  beneficent  order  of  the  species. 
He  sometimes  perplexed  his  followers,  yet  he 
never  deceived  them,  and,  in  spite  of  this  reversal 
of  the  ordinary  process,  he  usually  led  them  to 
successful  issues.  This  Truxton  had  noted,  for, 
from  the  first  evening  of  their  acquaintance,  he 
had  found  himself  moved  to  make  a  study  of  a 
career  which  was  plainly  so  interesting  to  Ruth. 
He  had  not  only  watched  Dole's  movements  and 
utterances  of  the  moment,  but  he  had  talked  of 
205 


2o6  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

him  with  men  who  were  better  posted  than  him- 
self ;  to  such  good  purpose,  indeed,  that  he  was 
within  an  ace  of  becoming  interested  in  the  gene- 
ral subject  of  politics,  which  he  had  hitherto  been 
disposed  to  regard  with  a  not  altogether  respect- 
ful indifference.  As  a  result  of  these  investiga- 
tions Truxton  had  conceived  so  high  an  opinion 
of  Harkness  Dole's  ability  and  character  that  he 
would  have  been  almost  as  ready  as  Ruth  to  make 
a  hero  of  him,  had  he  been  as  unconscious  as  she 
of  one  phase  of  the  situation. 

And  indeed  if  Ruth  alone,  of  all  the  company, 
had  reason  to  think  that  she  really  knew  her 
cousin,  it  was  precisely  because  of  this  belief  that 
she  was  the  more  liable  to  a  misapprehension  of 
his  attitude  toward  herself.  Whether  or  not  it 
was  true,  as  Truxton  suspected,  that  the  old 
affection  and  good-comradeship,  dating  from  her 
nursery  days,  had,  in  Dole,  taken  on  a  warmer, 
more  exacting  character,  it  is  at  least  certain  that 
no  such  suspicion  had  ever  dawned  upon  her 
mind.  And  the  illusion  on  her  part,  if  illusion  it 
was,  was  greatly  encouraged  by  her  cousin's 
cavalier  treatment  of  her  from  time  to  time. 

To  Ruth's  view,  his  desertion  of  her  on  the 
evening  of  the  thunder-storm,  and  similar  in- 
stances of  absence  of  mind — or  absence  of  man- 
ners, as  Daisy  Foxborough  was  inclined  to 
consider  it — were  the  prerogative  of  a  friend  and 
comrade.  Yet,  while  she  never  thought  of  re- 
senting these  lapses  and  liberties,  they  were,  on 


A  Good  Shot  207 

the  other  hand,  quite  incompatible  with  her  no- 
tions of  a  lover — a  branch  of  human  lore  in 
which,  by  the  way,  Miss  Ruth  Ware  had  not 
been  without  personal  experience. 

She  had  been  told,  years  ago,  that  Harkness 
Dole  would  never  marry,  and  she  had  accepted 
the  current  impression  that  he  had  once  wished 
very  ardently  to  do  so.  That  was  before  her  day, 
for  he  was  thirteen  years  her  senior.  If  that 
impression  was  a  baseless  one, — and  one  is  con- 
strained to  discuss  this  matter  in  a  purely  hypo- 
thetical vein — the  fact  at  least  was  well  established 
in  the  family  records,  that  the  Harkness  branch 
of  the  Dole  family  had,  on  general  principles,  bet- 
ter come  to  an  end  in  this  its  last  and  best  repre- 
sentative. 

It  would  hardly  be  fair  to  a  man  of  so  much  re- 
serve as  Harkness  Dole,  to  narrate  the  bald  facts 
touching  three  successive  generations  of  his  race, 
an  unflinching  recognition  of  which  had  induced 
the  stand  he  had  taken,  but  Ruth  knew  enough 
of  the  difficulties  and  denials  which  had  con- 
fronted him  from  boyhood  up,  to  give  her  a  very 
fair  understanding  of  his  character,  however  she 
might  misconstrue  his  sentiments. 

All  this,  of  course,  Truxton  could  not  know, 
and  he  was  experiencing  the  discomfort  of  regard- 
ing as  a  rival  a  man  whom  he  was  strongly  in- 
clined to  believe  a  better  fellow  than  himself. 
Yet  he  was  of  too  sanguine  a  temperament  to  lose 
heart  at  this  stage  of  the  game. 


208  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

Although  he  did  not  for  a  moment  suppose  that 
Harkness  Dole's  defection  on  the  evening  of  the 
thunder-storm  was  any  indication  of  indifference, 
though  the  very  puzzle  of  it  was  in  itself  disquiet- 
ing, the  fact  nevertheless  remained,  that  it  was 
he,  Frank  Truxton,  who  had  had  the  extreme 
felicity  of  floating  with  Ruth  for  an  hour  beneath 
the  stars,  while  the  camp-fire  beckoned  red  across 
the  water,  and  the  fragrance  of  the  pine- woods 
came  and  went.  Sometimes  a  loon  wailed  in  the 
shadow,  sometimes  Daisy  Foxborough's  gay  laugh 
mingled  with  the  hearty  bass  of  Shepleigh's,  some- 
times it  grew  so  still  that  the  lisp  of  the  water 
under  the  prow  was  distinctly  audible.  And, 
when  Ruth  spoke,  there  was  that  in  the  manner 
of  her  speech  which  convinced  him  that  she  was 
as  well  content  as  he;  that,  whatever  her  senti- 
ments might  be  toward  her  cousin,  she  found 
satisfaction,  for  the  moment  at  least,  in  the  society 
of  ker  new  friend. 

And  so  it  had  been  on  other  occasions  when 
chance  had  thrown  them  together.  They  had 
not  talked  over  much,  they  had  scarcely  alluded 
to  the  special  interests  which  had  first  drawn 
them  together  ;  all  that  was  apparently  as  remote 
to  Ruth  's  mind  as  to  his.  But  they  had  fallen  in 
with  one  another's  mood  so  naturally  and  har- 
moniously, that,  in  spite  of  Harkness  Dole,  in 
spite  of  his  own  native  modesty,  Truxton  had 
sometimes  made  bold  to  wonder  whether  to  Ruth, 
too,  there  were  not  a  subtly  persuasive  charm  in 


A  Good  Shot  209 

their  mutual  intercourse.  Could  it  be  that  she 
did  not  know  that  he  loved  her  ?  He  had  never 
been  on  his  guard  as  Harkness  Dole  invariably 
was,  he  had  never  practised  any  abnormal  self- 
restraint.  If  he  had  not  given  utterance  to  his 
feelings,  it  was  because  he  recognized  the  inherent 
fitness  of  things,  because  he  did  not  think  the 
time  had  come  for  laying  overt  claim  to  her  re- 
gard. One  of  these  days,  one  of  these  days  ! 
And  meanwhile  she  must  know,  she  must  at  least 
divine,  the  truth,  and  she  suffered  him  to  be 
happy.  She  was  surely  too  intelligent  to  mistake 
him,  to  miss  the  truth  he  was  at  so  little  pains  to 
conceal,  and  she  was  too  sincere,  too  compassion- 
ate, to  prepare  for  him  a  needless  pain  and  humili- 
ation. The  girl  to  whom  the  poor  and  the  lowly 
turned  instinctively  for  protection,  the  girl  who 
carried  consolation  to  Mattie  Tripe  and  sympa- 
thetic understanding  to  the  Widow  O'Toole,  such 
a  girl  would  never  deal  wantonly  with  the  man  wtio 
loved  her. 

And  so  it  was,  that  even  the  dread  of  Harkness 
Dole  could  not  long  embitter  the  joy  of  the  mo- 
ment, and  that,  during  those  days,  was  born,  in 
the  odor  of  the  pine-forest,  a  power  over  Frank 
Truxton  to  which  he  was  profoundly  susceptible 
ever  after. 

They  had  struck  camp  at  dawn  the  following 
morning,  and  the  little  fleet,  heavily  loaded  with 
the  camp  outfit,  had  pursued  its  way  down  the 
broad  outlet  of  the  lake  to  a  new  camping-ground. 


2io  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

Here,  on  the  bank  of  the  river,  just  below  a  dash- 
ing little  waterfall  around  which  they  had  been 
obliged  to  ' '  carry, ' '  and  in  convenient  neighbor- 
hood to  a  spring  of  ambrosial  purity  and  coolness, 
a  clearing  had  been  made  among  the  young 
birches,  the  tents  were  spread,  and  fir-branches 
laid.  When,  thanks  to  a  crackling  fire  of  birch- 
wood,  an  excellent  stew  had  got  itself  prepared 
for  the  workers  and  subsequently  consumed, 
Harkness  Dole  had  invited  Truxton  to  go  with 
him  for  a  tramp  after  bears  and  porcupines. 
Truxton,  who  had  always  had  a  taste  for  beard- 
ing his  lion,  hailed  with  joy  this  opportunity,  not 
of  shooting  problematical  bears,  but  of  tracking 
the  mind  of  Harkness  Dole  to  its  ultimate  lair. 

They  crossed  the  river  on  stepping-stones,  a 
few  rods  above  the  falls,  and  here,  coming  upon 
an  old  ' '  tote-road, ' '  they  pursued  their  way  up  a 
steep  incline.  When,  owing  to  the  impeding 
grdwth  of  young  wood,  the  road  narrowed  or  dis- 
appeared altogether,  Truxton  fell  behind. 

As  he  trudged  along,  rifle  in  hand,  he  glanced 
with  interest  from  time  to  time  at  the  tall,  wiry 
figure,  advancing,  with  bent  head  and  steady 
gait,  unhindered  by  the  underbrush,  and  bending 
young  saplings  aside  with  the  butt  of  his  rifle. 
Truxtou  carried  his  own  gun  over  his  shoulder 
and  secretly  hoped  he  might  have  a  chance  to  use 
it ;  for  when  a  man  is  a  good  shot  it  is  too  much 
to  demand  that  he  should  be  averse  to  having  the 
fact  known. 


A  Good  Shot  2 1 1 

They  tramped  along  for  a  couple  of  miles,  till 
the  road  brought  them  out  on  a  clearing  where 
there  were  deer-tracks  ;  and  here  they  paused  to 
take  their  bearings. 

"  Pity  it '  s  the  off  season, ' '  Dole  remarked.  ' '  I 
believe  we  could  follow  that  fellow  up,"  and  he 
pointed  to  fresh  tracks  disappearing  into  the  woods 
at  the  right. 

"  Perhaps  we  could  get  a  look  at  him  as  it  is," 
Truxton  suggested.  ' '  That 's  half  the  battle.  I 
sometimes  think,"  he  added,  "  that  one  might 
get  almost  as  much  satisfaction  out  of  a  kodak  as 
out  of  a  gun.  The  shot  's  the  main  thing." 

"  Depends  on  which  of  the  two  you  handle 
best,"  Dole  rejoined,  coolly.  "  For  my  part,  I 
like  to  bag  my  game. ' ' 

"  I  should  think  you  might  usually  succeed  in 
doing  it,  judging  by  your  shot  last  evening." 

' '  There  was  not  anything  left  to  bag  on  that 
occasion,"  Dole  answered,  drily.  "  And  I  am 
ready  to  admit  that  there  's  not  much  good  in 
knocking  things  to  pieces  just  to  show  how  smart 
you  are  !  You  and  Ruth  had  better  sense. ' ' 

Truxton  felt  himself  flush  in  an  exasperating 
manner. 

' '-  Do  you  suppose, ' '  he  asked  by  way  of  diver- 
sion, "  that  we  shall  remember  that  old  stump 
that  we  came  out  by  when  we  get  back  here,  or 
will  a  whole  regiment  of  them  spring  up  to  rattle 
us?" 

"  No  harm  in  barking  a  tree,  but  I  should  n't 


2 1 2  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

wonder  if  we  came  back  by  the  river.  Perhaps 
these  tracks  will  lead  to  it." 

The  weather  was  unseasonably  warm,  and 
Truxton  had  been  glad  to  get  the  breeze  that 
came  across  the  clearing.  Dole,  on  the  other 
hand,  looked  as  cool  as  when  they  started. 

They  followed  the  tracks  into  the  woods,  where 
they  had  to  fight  their  way  for  a  few  rods  through 
a  tangled  undergrowth,  and  then  they  emerged 
upon  an  open  "  tote-road  "  leading  at  right  angles 
with  the  direction  they  had  taken.  The  tracks 
went  down-hill  and  here  they  could  walk  abreast. 
They  did  so,  talking,  in  a  low  tone  of  voice, 
though  they  had  little  hope  of  anything  turning 
up  here,  save  partridges  and  rabbits. 

"I  fancy,"  Truxton  remarked,  "that  it  is 
your  propensity  for  hitting  things  you  aim  at  that 
makes  such  a  good  politician  of  you;  "  and  he 
glanced  over  his  shoulder  to  see  whether  the  ob- 
servation was  well  received. 

"  Possibly,"  Dole  replied  ;  but  his  imperturb- 
able countenance  betrayed  no  sentiment  either  of 
pleasure  or  displeasure. 

"  I  '11  give  it  to  him  square  between  the  eyes! ' ' 
Truxton  thought  to  himself.  Then,  ' '  I  suppose 
you  rather  lead  among  the  younger  men  of  the 
State." 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  I  never  took  much  stock  in  politics  until  I 
began  looking  up  your  record,"  Truxton  added, 
composedly. 


A  Good  Shot  213 

"  No  ?  "  and  this  time  Dole  turned  and  glanced 
at  his  persistent  interlocutor.  Perhaps  it  struck 
him  that  it  was  about  time  to  turn  the  tables. 
"  I  have  been  thinking,  now  that  I  know  you 
better,"  he  said,  with  a  critical  frown,  "  that  you 
have  some  qualifications  for  the  game  yourself. ' ' 

"I?" 

"  Yes  ;  you.  In  the  first  place,  you  've  got 
considerable  sense.  Then — you  get  the  hang  of 
people  quickly,  and — you  never  sulk. ' ' 

Truxton,  who  had  listened  respectfully  up  to 
this  point,  gave  a  short  laugh. 

' '  All  the  domestic  virtues, ' '  he  exclaimed.  ' '  I 
had  n't  thought  of  them  as  essentials  !  " 

"  No  ;  I  presume  not.  But  a  politician  who 
has  good  sense,  good  perceptions,  and  good  humor 
— and  one  quality  besides — is  fairly  well  equipped. 
How  thick  those  bunch-berries  are  !  " 

"  And  what  is  the  fourth  qualification  ?  " 

"  I  '11  wait  till  I  find  out  whether  you  've  got 
it  before  I  tell  you." 

' '  And  how  do  you  propose  to  find  out  ?  ' ' 

"  Oh,  that  's  my  business — as  a  politician,  if 
you  will — to  find  out  !  " 

"  Has  any  politician  ever  found  you  out  ?  " 

"JPerhaps  not.  That  may  be  what  gives  me  a 
pull  over  them, ' '  and  there  was  something  almost 
confidential  in  the  side-glance  he  gave  his  com- 
panion. But  he  quickly  disowned  it  by  an  abrupt 
change  of  subject.  "  Is  n't  that  falling  water  that 
we  hear  ?  "  he  asked. 


2 1 4  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

"Sounds  like  it.  Dan  said  there  were  some 
bigger  falls  farther  down  the  stream. ' ' 

Presently  Dole  spoke  again,  as  if  under  cover 
of  the  noise  which  was  gradually  increasing. 
And  Truxton,  on  his  part,  listened  with  a  curious 
feeling  that,  the  sound  of  the  rushing  waters  cov- 
ered any  self-consciousness  he  might  otherwise 
have  betrayed. 

"  There  's  one  other  thing  you  've  got,"  Dole 
was  saying,  "  which  would  not  necessarily  make 
you  more  successful,  but  it  might  possibly  make 
you  more  useful — if  you  did  n't  run  it  into  the 
ground. ' ' 

"  And  that  is?" 

' '  Ruth  says  that  you  have  a  notion  of  making 
things  better.  You  would  find  that  idea  open  up 
tremendously  if  you  once  got  hold  of  the  wheels. ' ' 

Most  persons  listened  respectfully  to  Harkness 
Dole  when  he  chanced  to  be  in  earnest,  and 
Truxton  found  himself  doing  so  on  this  occasion, 
though  from  anyone  else  such  a  calm  analysis 
of  his  own  personal  character  would  have  struck 
him  as  grotesque. 

"  Pity  there  should  be  any  doubt  about  that 
other  qualification,"  he  found  himself  replying, 
quite  seriously.  "  It  would  n't  be  half  bad  to  be 
both  successful  and  useful, — in  any  walk  of  life. 
You  must  have  found  that  out  before  this." 

Dole's  face  became  a  thought  more  non-commit- 
tal than  usual,  and,  not  being  the  kind  of  man  to 
shout,  his  voice  was  only  just  audible  above  the 


A  Good  Shot  215 

steadily  increasing  roar  of  the  falls  as  he  said, 
"  That  's  as  you  may  look  at  it." 

A  moment  more  and  they  could  see  the  fall 
showing  white  among  the  trees,  and  as  they  ap- 
proached the  bank  the  spray  touched  their  faces. 
The  deer-tracks  led  on  down-stream,  and,  after 
an  appreciative  consideration  of  the  fine,  free  leap 
of  the  river,  and  of  the  churning  rapids  below, 
Truxton  proposed  keeping  up  the  pursuit. 

"  Go  ahead,"  said  Dole,  and  this  time  he  was 
forced  to  shout,  for  the  roar  of  the  water  was 
quite  deafening.  "  I  'm  going  to  stay  here  and 
see  if  I  can't  make  the  game  come  to  me." 

The  tracks  stopped  at  the  bank  of  the  river, 
which  was  very  shallow  here  where  it  had  room 
to  spread  itself  out,  and,  though  the  shore  was 
somewhat  trampled,  as  if  the  animal  had  paused 
to  drink,  there  was  no  sign  of  his  having  turned 
back.  He  had  probably  been  startled  by  their 
voices  and  had  crossed  the  stream  before  they 
reached  it.  It  would  have  been  pretty  to  see  the 
creature  drink  here  in  this  natural  fastness. 

The  fall  was  thundering  away  in  fine  shape  fifty 
yards  up  the  glen  and  the  wide  shallow  below  was 
still  flecked  with  foam  as  the  water  hurried  among 
the -rocks.  Truxton  stepped  across  from  rock  to 
rock  to  the  other  shore,  which  proved  to  be  but 
the  pebbly  edge  of  the  river-bed  left  dry  by  the 
summer's  drought,  and,  where  the  rocky  bottom 
ceased,  the  woods  pressed  close.  He  felt  that  the 
deer  might  be  in  there  almost  anywhere,  gazing, 


2 1 6  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

with  big,  mild  eyes,  at  the  two-legged  intruder  ; 
but  he  could  find  no  trace  of  him,  nor  did  the 
woods  offer  any  pathway. 

Truxton  forced  a  passage  through  a  thicket  of 
alders  and  birches  and  pressed  on  against  an  all 
but  impenetrable  tangle.  He  knew  he  could  find 
his  way  back  by  following  the  sound  of  the  waters, 
and  he  knew,  too,  that  he  should  not  be  led  far 
astray  in  the  midst  of  such  obstacles  as  these. 
More  than  once  he  found  himself  confronted  by  a 
gigantic  boulder  whose  towering,  precipitous  sides 
presented  an  insurmountable  barrier.  He  made 
it  a  point  of  honor  to  fight  his  way  about  the  base. 
Once  he  stepped  upon  the  huge  trunk  of  a  pros- 
trate tree  which  yielded  beneath  his  weight,  so 
that  he  came  crashing  through  into  a  mush  of 
rotten  bark  and  fibre.  He  enjoyed  this  hand-to- 
hand  tussle  with  a  very  uncompromising  Nature, 
and  he  kept  it  up,  quite  for  its  own  sake,  having 
long  since  given  up  his  deer.  Now  and  then, 
when  he  paused  for  breath,  strange  noises  struck 
his  ear  and  roused  a  momentary  curiosity  ;  but, 
being  versed  in  woodcraft,  he  was  well  aware 
that  no  man  has  ever  learned  the  secret  of  all 
the  forest  tongues,  their  whisperings  and  their 
mutterings,  nor  of  the  strange  stirrings  of  the 
breath,  the  pulsing  in  the  veins,  of  the  untrodden 
wilderness. 

His  wrestling-bout  had  lasted  close  upon  half 
an  hour,  yet  he  knew  by  the  sound  of  the  falls 
that  he  had  made  but  little  progress.  As  he 


A  Good  Shot  217 

came  to  the  edge  of  the  woods,  only  a  few  rods 
farther  down-stream  than  he  had  entered  them, 
he  could  see  Harkness  Dole,  gun  in  hand,  pacing 
up  and  down  the  stony  shore.  Dole  did  not  seem 
to  be  watching  for  him,  nor  to  be  on  the  lookout 
for  game. 

Truxton  paused  a  moment  before  showing  him- 
self ;  the  sight  of  the  solitary  man  pacing  there 
interested  him.  Yet  there  was  nothing  in  his 
face  or  bearing  different  from  his  usual  aspect. 
There  were  the  lines  of  quiet  concentration,  that 
was  the  look  of  withdrawal  from  external  inter- 
ests, which  always  marked  his  countenance  when 
in  repose.  Here  was  the  same  nonchalance  of 
bearing  which  always  characterized  him — which 
scarcely  left  him  when  paddling  with  all  his 
strength  and  skill  against  the  rapids,  which  was 
never  more  complete  than  when  he  was  about  to 
pull  the  trigger.  For  a  man  so  highly  organized, 
so  complicated,  there  was  a  curious  consistency 
in  his  outward  manifestation. 

Truxton  stepped  out  of  his  covert  of  boughs, 
and  at  the  same  moment  Dole  flung  himself  down 
on  a  sun-baked  space  among  the  rocks,  where 
moss  and  grass  were  making  a  praiseworthy  effort 
to  flourish.  He  leaned  his  elbow  in  the  moss, 
and,  resting  his  head  in  his  hand,  pulled  his  hat 
over  his  eyes.  His  legs  were  stretched  at  full 
length  before  him. 

By  this  time  Truxton  was  exactly  opposite  him 
across  the  stream,  which  was  perhaps  twenty  yards 


2 1 8  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

wide  at  that  point.  As  he  paused,  to  choose  the 
best  crossing,  his  eye  was  caught  by  a  something 
moving  in  the  sparse  grass  close  to  Dole's  elbow. 
He  shouted,  but  his  voice  did  not  carry  against 
the  roar  of  the  falls  and  the  chatter  of  the  rapids, 
and,  before  he  could  take  a  step  forward,  the  head 
of  a  snake  had  raised  itself  from  the  writhing  coils, 
and  he  knew  that  in  another  instant  the  creature 
would  strike. 

A  moment  for  reflection  would  perhaps  have 
paralyzed  him  ;  but  his  action  was  necessarily  in- 
stantaneous. With  a  movement  as  involuntary 
as  that  which  causes  the  eye  to  close  in  self-de- 
fence, Truxton  raised  his  rifle  and  fired.  Yet,  in 
the  inappreciable  second's  pause  before  the  pulling 
of  the  trigger,  he  had  aimed  with  a  swift  intensity 
of  concentration  which  was  better  than  delibera- 
tion, and  he  experienced  no  feeling  of  surprise 
when  the  creature  dropped. 

Roused  by  the  shot,  Harkness  Dole  drew  him- 
self together  and  glanced  carelessly  across  the 
stream  at  Truxton,  and  then  his  eye  was  attracted, 
by  a  last  convulsive  movement,  to  the  evil  thing 
not  two  feet  away.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  and 
took  a  step  backward.  The  thing  was  motionless 
— a  long,  gleaming  rope  of  olive-brown,  with 
darker  spots,  terminating  in  a  curious,  horny  ap- 
pendage. The  head  was  completely  demolished. 

Dole  stood  there,  quietly  measuring  with  his 
eye  the  distance  between  the  two  shores,  while 
Truxton  took  it  in  long,  splashing  leaps.  The 


A  Good  Shot  2 1 9 

younger  man's  face  was  white  beneath  the  tan 
and  his  eyes  shone  with  excitement. 

"  Pretty  shot,"  Harkness  Dole  remarked,  as 
Truxton  came  up  ;  but  his  words  were  drowned 
in  the  roar  of  the  falls. 

"  Shall  we  try  following  the  river  ?  "  Truxton 
shouted  ;  and  he  was  amazed  to  find  how  much 
voice  he  had,  for  he  knew  that  he  was  vibrating 
inwardly  in  great,  disconcerting  pulses.  He 
started  on,  up-stream,  with  a  curious  desire  to 
get  away  from  something. 

"  Hold  on !     The  rattle  's  yours!  "  Dole  called. 

Then,  as  Truxton  pushed  on  up  the  river,  Dole 
took  out  his  jack-knife  and  carefully  removed  the 
rattle,  which  he  dropped  into  his  pocket.  After 
which  he  glanced  again  across  the  river,  and, 
drawing  a  long,  low  whistle,  audible  only  to  his 
own  ears,  started  in  pursuit  of  Truxton. 

He  caught  up  with  him,  nearly  half  a  mile 
above  the  falls,  where  the  silence  struck  the  ear 
as  something  strange  and  unnatural,  in  spite  of 
the  crunching  of  their  boots  on  the  stony  border 
of  the  river-bed. 

"  So  that  's  the  kind  of  shot  you  are  !  "  Dole 
observed,  as  he  came  abreast  of  Truxton. 

"  When  I  'm  in  luck,"  Truxton  laughed— for 
he  had  got  himself  quieted  down  by  this  time. 

They  walked  on,  side  by  side. 

Presently  :  "  What  was  the  thing  doing  when 
you  fired  ?  "  Dole  asked. 

' '  Doing  ?     What  do  you  suppose  he  was  doing  ? 


22O  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

You  don't  suppose  I  should  have  fired  under  your 
nose  if  he  had  been  asleep  ?  ' ' 

' '  Then  he  was — roused  ?  ' ' 

"  Well,  rather  !  He  was  up  on  his  elbow,  tak- 
ing aim.  Nasty-looking  chap,  too  !  " 

"  H'm  !  I  don't  suppose  it  would  have  been  a 
pleasant  mode  of  exit,  and — I  'm  sure  I  'm  much 
obliged  to  you.  Here  's  the  rattle." 

"  Thanks  !  "  and  Truxton  took  it  in  his  hand 
and  examined  it.  "  Queer-looking  machine  ! 
First  I  ever  saw  !  "  Then,  with  a  sudden  revul- 
sion of  feeling,  he  tossed  it  into  the  river. 

"  Hullo  !  What  did  you  do  that  for  ?  "  Dole 
queried. 

' '  Gave  me  the  jim-jams  !  Would  you  care  to 
have  it,  though  ?  I  think  we  could  fish  it  out 
again." 

"  Oh,  no  ;  and  I  think  you  are  entitled  to  the 
jim-jams. ' ' 

Half  an  hour  later,  as  they  came  in  sight  of  the 
camp-fire,  showing  faint  and  dim  across  the  river 
in  the  broad  day,  Harkness  Dole  laid  his  hand  on 
his  companion's  arm — a  sort  of  thing  Truxton 
had  never  known  him  to  do  before — and  said  : 
"  There  's  nothing  to  prevent  my  telling  you, 
now,  what  that  fourth  qualification  is." 

"All  right;  fire  away  !  "  said  Truxton.  "  Per- 
haps it  can  be  cultivated  ! ' ' 

"  It  looks  as  if  it  had  been,"  Dole  replied. 
"  It  is  what,  for  want  of  a  better  name,  we  some- 
times call — nerve  !  ' ' 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

OUT   OF   A   CLEAR   SKY. 

AFTER  such  an  exploit  as  this,  we  may  well 
believe  that  Truxton  became  the  hero  of 
the  hour.  Harkness  Dole  had  casually 
mentioned  the  circumstance  in  the  course  of 
supper-time,  so  casually,  indeed,  that  it  was  some 
seconds  before  the  true  significance  of  the  event 
was  apprehended.  The  excitement  which  fol- 
lowed was  what  any  well  equipped  reporter  would 
term  "  unparalleled."  If  Truxton  escaped  deco- 
ration at  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Shepleigh,  if  Daisy 
Foxborough  did  not  crown  him  with  bunch- 
berries  in  lieu  of  the  traditional  laurel,  it  was  due 
to  his  agitated  protest,  vigorously  seconded  by 
Dole  himself.  If  the  boys,  Jim  and  Caleb,  did 
not  hoist  him  upon  their  shoulders  and  bear  him 
in  triumph  about  the  somewhat  restricted  limits 
of  the  clearing,  it  was  because  he  proved  too  un- 
tractable  to  submit  to  such  honors.  But  the  spirit 
of  adulation  was  abroad  no  less,  and'  found  ex- 
pression in  toast  after  toast,  couched  in  the  most 


222  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

flattering  language,  and  drunk  in  lime-juice 
toddy  to  the  health  of  Truxtoij,  of  Harkness,  of 
the  snake,  and  again  of  Truxton,  and  of  Truxton 
again.  It  is  even  recorded  that  on  this  occasion 
Shepleigh  made  his  initial  venture  in  verse. 

After  sitting  silent,  pipe  in  mouth,  for  at  least 
fifteen  minutes,  exhibiting  a  stoic  indifference  to 
relay  after  relay  of  Dole's  flapjacks  that  passed  un- 
heeded beneath  his  usually  susceptible  nose,  his 
brow,  the  while,  corrugated  with  lines  indicating 
extreme  mental  concentration,  this  mighty  son  of 
Anak  suddenly  burst  into  song,  and  roared  out  a 
more  or  less  impromptu  tail-piece  to  the  Lumber- 
man's Ditty. 

"  X  is  for  Truxton  who  shot  the  big  snake  ! 
Y  's  for  the  Way  that  he  done  took  the  cake ! 
Z  is  how  Dizzy  we  all  of  us  turn 

When  we  think  how  he  scotched  that  unmannerly 
worm  ! " 

Then,  while  the  entire  camp  broke  forth  into 
clamorous  plaudits,  Dan  took  up  the  chorus,  un- 
supported by  the  other  voices  ;  and  the  back- 
woodsman, perceiving  that  he  was  about  to  pluck 
a  bay-leaf  of  his  own,  grew  extremely  red  in  the 
face  as  he  approached  the  last  line,  and  boldly 
amended  it  to  : 

"  Give   Mr.  Truxton  a  gun  and  there  's  nothing  goes 
wrong ! " 

The  "  Mister"  which  the  performer  bumped 
up  against  to  the  destruction  of  rhythm  and  metre, 


Out  of  a  Clear  Sky  223 

was  an  unprecedented  tribute  on  the  part  of  Dan 
who,  as  a  rule,  religiously  avoided  that  courtesy- 
title. 

But  most  of  all  did  Truxton  value  a  word  of 
Ruth's.  She  had  stepped  down  the  bank  to  the 
edge  of  the  stream,  where  he  found  her  on  her 
knees,  engaged  in  the  ordinarily  unpoetic  oc- 
cupation of  rinsing  dish-towels.  A  half-grown 
moon,  riding  high  overhead,  lit  her  hair,  which 
was  lightly  stirred  by  the  breeze,  and  the  water 
sparkled  with  the  swish  of  the  snowy  linen. 

Truxton  came  and  stood  beside  her,  watching 
her  deft  motions  and  waiting  for  her  to  speak 
first.  Presently  she  stood  on  her  feet  and  looked 
in  his  face. 

' '  I  thought  it  was  you, ' '  she  said. 

' '  What  made  you  guess  ?  ' ' 

"  I  suppose  I  was  thinking  of  you  before  you 
came  up." 

' '  That  was  good  of  you. ' ' 

"  I  was  thinking,"  she  said,  very  seriously, 
' '  of  the  danger  you  were  in  this  afternoon. ' ' 

"I?" 

"  Yes  ;  you  risked — everything  !  " 

' '  Most  persons  would  call  it  rather  a  foolhardy 
performance, "'  Truxton  demurred. 

"  Yes  ;  if  they  did  n't  know  !  "  And  that  was 
the  word  of  Ruth's  that  outweighed  all  the  rest. 

The  memory  of  it  dwelt  in  his  mind  that  eve- 
ning as  they  sat  about  the  camp-fire,  capping  one 
another's  yarns  of  phenomenal  shots  and  hair- 


224  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

breadth  escapes  ;  he  heard  it  in  the  voice,  he  felt  it 
in  the  warm  pressure  of  the  hand  with  which  she 
bade  him  good-night ;  if  the  truth  must  be  known, 
it  was  repeating  itself  in  the  strange,  intermittent 
silences  of  the  forest  half  the  night  through. 
Somehow,  whether  from  the  exhilaration  of  a  feat 
accomplished,  of  a  danger  escaped,  or  because  of 
a  certain  look  Ruth's  face  had  had  down  there  by 
the  river  with  the  moon  overhead,  he  was  sud- 
denly possessed  of  a  most  audacious  self-con- 
fidence. Nor  did  it  leave  him  in  the  days  that 
followed. 

Harkness  Dole  contributed  to  it  as  much  as 
anyone.  A  certain  intimacy  had  sprung  up  be- 
tween the  two  men  which  was,  in  itself,  disarming 
to  Truxton's  suspicions,  though  he  was  far  from 
drawing  from  it  the  highly  flattering  conclusions 
which  must  have  been  patent  to  an  onlooker.  He 
never  dreamed  that  Dole  had  deliberately  taken 
his  measure,  and  indeed  the  circumstance,  had 
he  been  informed  of  it,  would  not  have  possessed 
any  special  interest  for  him.  In  his  opinion, 
there  was  little  in  his  own  character  to  repay  in- 
vestigation, and  it  would  have  struck  him  that  a 
man  like  Harkness  Dole  might  have  been  better 
employed  than  in  the  study  of  it.  What  Truxton 
did  take  in,  however,  with  keen  appreciation,  was 
his  newly  acquired  privileges  in  the  way  of  easy 
intercourse  with  a  man  of  the  world  of  Dole's 
calibre:  and  the  fact  that  these  were  shared  by 
Ruth  was  not  calculated  to  detract  from  their  value. 


Out  of  a  Clear  Sky  225 

The  three  were  much  together,  and  the  more 
he  saw  of  Ruth's  relation  with  Dole,  the  more 
complete  he  felt  their  mutual  understanding  to 
be,  the  less  apprehensive  did  he  grow.  They  had 
been  friends  for  years,  he  reasoned,  and  no  harm 
had  come  of  it.  Ruth  was  twenty-five  years  old 
and  might  be  credited  with  knowing  her  own 
mind,  while  Harkness  Dole,  a  man  of  means  and 
influence,  could  have  nothing  to  gain  by  delay. 
It  was  a  miracle  that  they  should  not  long  ago 
have  discovered  how  peculiarly  suited  they  were 
to  one  another,  but  then,  it  was  a  well  established 
fact  that  people  never  did  what  was  expected  of 
them,  and  in  this  instance,  at  least,  the  perversity 
of  Fate  was  all  in  his  favor. 

Meanwhile,  was  there  ever  anything  so  enchant- 
ing as  this  rough  camp-life,  or  so  becoming  to  all 
concerned  ?  Far  from  making  him  indifferent  to 
others,  it  appeared  as  if  his  love  for  Ruth  had 
opened  his  eyes  to  a  thousand  admirable  traits  in 
her  fellow- campers.  Far  from  suffering  from 
comparison,  all  the  rest  of  the  company  seemed 
to  shine  by  a  reflected  light  which  was  quite  de- 
ceptively illuminating.  Daisy  Foxborough's 
vivacity  charmed  him  as  it  had  never  done  be- 
fore. ;  the  indolent  grace  with  which  Mrs.  Shep- 
leigh  maintained  that  inviolable  poise  of  hers 
impressed  him  as  something  singularly  perfect ; 
Shepleigh  himself  seemed  vastly  more  interesting 
than  he  had  ever  found  him  at  college.  As  for 
Dan,  Truxton  was  so  enamored,  not  only  of  his 


226  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

character,  but  of  his  situation  in  life,  that  he 
found  himself  speculating  as  to  how  Ruth  would 
like  it  if  he  were  to  turn  lumberman,  and  invite 
her  to  spend  the  rest  of  her  existence  camping 
out  !  Not  a  bad  idea  that  !  Always  to  have  the 
breath  of  the  pine- woods  in  your  nostrils,  the 
sound  of  running  waters  in  your  ears,  to  make 
friends  with  Nature,  take  one's  joys  and  one's  re- 
verses at  her  hands  ! 

"  How  long  do  you  think  you  could  be  happy 
in  the  woods  ?  "  he  asked  her  abruptly,  one  day. 

"  Forever  !  "  she  answered,  without  a  moment's 
consideration. 

It  was  within  a  day  or  two  of  his  departure  for 
the  city,  but  he  would  not  let  the  thought  of  that 
intrude  itself.  They  were  wandering  down  an 
old  "  tote-road  "  that  seemed  to  be  leading  them 
into  the  deepest  depths  of  the  forest.  The  par- 
tridges were  so  tame  that  he  declared  he  should 
have  been  ashamed  to  shoot  them.  He  knew,  too, 
that  the  larder  was  full,  and  that  Ruth  had  no  taste 
for  slaughter  ;  so  he  carried  his  gun  carelessly. 

They  came  to  a  small  clearing  that  had  had 
time  to  conceal  its  wounds.  The  sunny  space  was 
strewn  with  ferns  and  bunch-berries,  tender  green 
moss  had  covered  the  stumps  and  fallen  logs  ; 
even  the  rocks  were  clothed  with  lichen.  A 
hundred  spicy  fragrances  mingled  with  the  all- 
pervading  aroma  of  the  balsam.  Over  their 
heads,  as  they  sat  upon  a  mossy  rock,  a  chip- 
munk scolded  and  protested,  and  in  among  the 


Out  of  a  Clear  Sky  227 

bushes  the  bright  eyes  of  small  birds  peered  in- 
quisitively. 

They  had  sat  there  several  minutes,  talking  in 
the  low  tone  that  the  woodland  induces,  when 
they  were  startled  by  a  sudden  gust  of  whirring 
wings  close  at  hand,  and  a  little  covey  of  three  or 
four  partridges  shot  like  brown  shadows  into  the 
woods.  The  birds  did  not  go  far ;  Ruth  and 
Truxton  could  hear  them  clucking  and  peepsing 
to  one  another  just  within  the  tangle. 

"  Perhaps  this  is  their  own  special  game-pre- 
serve we  have  blundered  into,"  said  Ruth.  "  I 
believe  they  feed  upon  those  insects  making  a 
cloud  of  themselves  in  the  sun." 

"  More  likely  that  the  birds  do  their  house- 
keeping here,"  Truxton  ventured.  "  I  think 
that  must  be  all  one  family  from  the  way  they 
keep  on  talking  together." 

"  I  believe  we  could  understand  what  they 
say,"  Ruth  declared,  "  if  only  that  chipmunk 
would  be  quiet.  Hush,  hush  !  "  she  cried,  wav- 
ing her  handkerchief  at  the  impudent  fellow,  who 
only  chattered  the  louder. 

' '  Nothing  short  of  a  gun-shot  would  bring  that 
chap  to  terms, ' '  Truxton  remarked,  but  he  made 
no  motion  to  act  upon  his  own  suggestion. 

As  if  appreciative  of  this  exercise  of  forbear- 
ance, the  little  fellow  presently  stopped  his  chat- 
ter, and  with  a  whisk,  not  of  his  tail,  but  of  his 
entire  person,  disappeared. 

At  that,  a  hush  fell  upon  the  forest,  broken  only 


228  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

by  low,  leafy  rustlings  and  an  occasional  flutter 
of  wings  ;  for  it  was  high  noon,  and  the  birds 
were  not  conversationally  inclined. 

"  I  wonder  what  makes  this  so  utterly  heav- 
enly," Truxton  speculated,  leaning  back  against 
the  trunk  of  a  tree  and  clasping  his  hands  behind 
his  head. 

Ruth  did  not  answer  at  once  ;  she  had  picked 
one  of  the  ferns  that  grew  at  the  base  of  their 
rock,  and  was  studying  its  delicate  tracery. 

"  I  think  I  know,"  she  said,  at  last.  "  I  think 
it  is  because  it  is  all  so  shut  in.  One  takes  it  just 
as  it  is,  without  reference  to  anything  else.  If 
there  were  an  outlook  somewhere  it  would  not  be 
so  peaceful. ' ' 

"  But  it  ought  to  be  more  inspiring." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  So  it  would  !  But  inspiration 
is  n't  peace,  and  I  think,  just  now,  just  this 
minute,  peace  is  the  best  thing. ' ' 

Her  hat,  a  soft  dark  felt,  lay  upon  her  knees  ; 
she  bent  her  head  above  it  and  tucked  the  long 
fern  in  under  the  ribbon,  but  absently,  as  if  it  did 
not  matter.  The  sun  which  was  behind  them, 
shining  full  upon  the  bent  head,  brought  out  the 
warm,  rich  tints  of  the  hair.  But  her  face  was  in 
shadow. 

Truxton  never  forgot  that  hour  with  Ruth  in 
the  sunny  glade  among  the  scents  and  sounds  of 
the  forest.  In  a  certain  sense  it  seemed  to  him, 
as  he  looked  back  upon  it,  to  have  been  the  high- 
water  mark  of  his  life  ;  the  hour  when  the  still 


Out  of  a  Clear  Sky  229 

tide  of  peace  rose  highest.  The  tossing  waves  of 
emotion,  the  whistling  winds  of  ambition  might 
fling  the  waters  far  above  that  level,  but  never 
could  the  tranquil  gathering  of  the  flood  rise 
higher. 

And,  if  violent  contrast  best  emphasizes  the 
character  of  an  impression,  that,  too,  was  not 
lacking  ;  for,  scarce  an  hour  after  the  chipmunk 
ceased  his  chatter  and  Ruth  spoke  her  little 
homily  on  peace,  came  the  rudest  shock  Frank 
Truxton  had  ever  experienced. 

They  were  camping  that  day  on  the  shores  of 
an  island-strewn  lake  in  whose  glassy  depths 
mountains  and  forests  stood  on  their  heads,  and 
flights  of  wild  duck  crossed  the  blue  of  an  in- 
verted sky.  A  half-mile  beyond  their  camp  was 
a  long  "carry"  through  the  woods  to  a  com- 
panion lake  of  similar  attractions,  and  here  for 
the  first  time  in  ten  days  they  were  destined  to 
come  in  touch  with  the  outer  world. 

Two  strangers  from  the  city  with  their  guides 
came  paddling  across  the  lake  and  paused  for  a 
friendly  greeting.  They  did  not  disembark,  but 
they  tossed  a  couple  of  newspapers  ashore  which 
were  dated  only  three  days  back.  Truxton 
picked  up  one  of  them  and  handed  it  to  Ruth, 
who  accepted  it  with  but  a  half-hearted  interest. 
She  was  sitting  on  a  log  close  to  the  water's  edge, 
where  she  was  polishing  knives  after  the  idyllic 
fashion  so  highly  esteemed  in  camp  circles, 
namely,  by  driving  them  vigorously  into  the 


230  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

clean  white  sand  at  her  feet.  As  she  took  the 
paper  she  glanced  down  the  little  table  of  con- 
tents headed  :  "  This  Morning's  News,"  and 
Truxton,  who  was  watching  her  face,  simply  be- 
cause that  was  always  the  most  profitable  use  to 
which  he  could  put  his  eyes,  saw  her  change 
countenance  and  hastily  turn  the  sheet.  He 
wondered  whether  she  had  had  ill  news. 

Suddenly  she  sprang  to  her  feet  and  looked  him 
in  the  face. 

1 '  Come, ' '  she  said  ;  ' '  there  is  something  you 
must  see — but  not  now,  not  here — come  !  "  and 
she  walked  swiftly  up  the  beach  to  the  camp-fire. 

All  the  company  were  still  gathered  on  the 
shore  watching  the  long,  shining  wake  of  the 
stranger  canoes. 

"  Miss  Ware  !  What  is  it  ?  "  Truxton  asked, 
half  under  his  breath.  "  Have  you  had  bad 
news  ?  ' ' 

"  News  !  "  she  repeated  ;  "  news  !  It  's  not 
news  !  It  's  an  abominable  lie,  and  I  must  be 
the  one  to  tell  you  !  "  Her  voice  fairly  broke 
upon  the  words. 

Then,  recovering  herself,  she  handed  him  the 
paper.  He  saw  that  she  was  perfectly  white,  but 
there  was  a  look  of  utter  scorn  on  her  face  which 
he  could  not  have  dreamed  it  capable  of. 

Truxton  took  the  sheet,  and  it  was  his  own 
name  that  seemed  to  start  out  at  him  like  a  sud- 
den sword-thrust.  And  then,  while  Ruth  stood 
beside  him,  erect  and  defiant,  with  sparkling  eyes 


Out  of  a  Clear  Sky  231 

and  blanched  cheek,  and  the  voices  of  the  others, 
still  standing  on  the  beach,  came,  like  echoes  from 
a  remote  past,  he  read  the  sensational  head-lines  : 


"  FRANK  TRUXTON  STIL/L,  AMONG  THE 
MISSING  !" 

"COULD   BE   BETTER  SPARED   THAN   THE   FUNDS 
WHICH    VANISHED   SIMULTANEOUSLY." 

Below,  under  the  chastening  influence  of  small 
type,  appeared  the  following  more  moderate 
statement : 

"  Although  the  bank-officials,  from  president  to  janitor, 
refuse  to  be  interviewed,  there  can  be  little  doubt  of  the 
true  state  of  the  case  at  the  Pilgrim  Savings  Bank.  The 
incident  is  a  severe  blow  to  all  concerned,  for  the  young 
man  was  very  popular,  and,  although  he  was  known  to 
be  somewhat  involved  in  mining  speculations,  he  still 
possessed  the  entire  confidence  of  his  associates.  The 
natural  inference  of  course  must  be  that  the  defaulting 
clerk,  unable  to  withstand  the  insidious  maduess  of  specu- 
lation, has  adventured  his  initial  step  on  the  downward 
path  in  a  wild  effort  to  stem  the  tide  of  financial  ruin  !  " 

Truxton  read  this  highly  imaginative  effort 
twke  through  before  he  raised  his  eyes  from  the 
paper.  When  at  last  he  lifted  his  face  there  were 
new  lines  there.  The  boyish  look  had  gone  from 
his  eyes,  and  his  mouth  was  drawn  and  stern. 

' '  And  you  read — all  that  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Every  word,"  she  answered. 


232  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

"  How  could  you  ?  " 

"How  could  I?"  He  could  see  the  color 
come  back  into  her  face,  slowly  at  first,  then 
deepening  swiftly  over  cheek  and  brow  ;  but  she 
did  not  flinch.  "  Do  you  think,"  she  said,  and 
her  eyes  were  clear  and  steady  as  they  met  his, — 
"  do  you  think  that  if  that  lie  had  been  spoken  I 
should  have  closed  my  ears  to  shut  it  out  ?  ' ' 

"  I  should  rather  you  had,"  he  answered, 
almost  harshly.  ' '  Hideous  things  are  not  fit  for 
you  to  see  or  hear." 

"  They  are  as  fit  for  me  as  for  you,"  she  de- 
clared, and  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him  with  a 
gesture  that  gave  a  thrilling  significance  to  the 
simple  word  and  act. 

Truxton  took  in  his  the  proffered  hand  and 
bent  his  head  above  it  with  as  knightly  an  im- 
pulse as  if  his  Yankee  breeding  had  permitted 
him  to  raise  it  to  his  lips.  Yet  his  face,  when  he 
lifted  it,  was  scarcely  less  stern,  and  the  inflection 
of  his  voice,  though  no  longer  harsh,  was  strenu- 
ous and  deliberate,  the  voice  of  a  man  in  whom 
feeling  must  be  held  in  check  by  the  need  of 
action. 

"  When  the  stain  is  gone  from  my  name, — if 
stains  ever  do  go," — he  added  bitterly,  "  I  shall 
come  and  thank  you  for  this." 

' '  And  now  ?  ' ' 

"  Now  I  am  going,"  and  he  turned  abruptly, 
and  strode  down  the  little  incline  to  the  beach. 

Ruth  saw  him  hand  the  paper  to  Shepleigh  and 


Out  of  a  Clear  Sky  233 

speak  to  Harkness  Dole  ;  and  then  there  was  a 
sudden  commotion  in  the  little  flock  of  figures  on 
the  beach,  and,  while  Shepleigh  remained  behind 
for  a  word  with  Dan  whom  he  had  summoned 
from  the  woods,  all  the  others  came  up,  with 
anxious,  bewildered  faces. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  a  canoe  was  launched 
and  Truxton  and  Dan  were  off,  speeding  across 
the  quiet  lake  to  the  swift,  strong  stroke  of  the 
two  paddles. 

"  Good-bye  and  good  luck  !  "  Shepleigh 
shouted  once,  with  a  fair  show  of  good  cheer,  and 
Dan  waved  his  hand  in  response.  But  Truxton 
neither  stayed  his  stroke  nor  turned  his  head, 
though  the  canoe  swerved  as  the  stern  paddle 
paused  an  instant. 

An  oppressive  silence  fell  upon  the  little  com- 
pany, staring  disconsolate  after  the  tiny  craft. 

"Think  they  '11  find  a  team  anywhere?" 
Dole  asked,  at  last. 

"  Doubt  it,"  said  Shepleigh.  "  Guess  Frank 
will  have  to  foot  it  to  the  stage  from  the  other 
side  of  Round  Pond.  But  he  '11  make  it." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  he  '11  make  it,  fast  enough." 

"  Starts  at  six  in  the  morning,  does  n't  it  ?  " 
Caleb  asked. 

"  Yes  ;  he  '11  have  a  bad  night  of  it,"  and 
Shepleigh's  kind  face  was  scored  with  the  most 
painful  emotions. 

"  What  did  he  say,  Will,  when  you  offered  to 
go  with  him  ?  "  his  wife  asked. 


234  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

"  He  did  n't  say  much,  but — he  made  his 
meaning  clear  !  " 

"  Beastly  business  !  "  Jim  Foxborough  ob- 
served. "  I  don't  wonder  he  felt  bad." 

' '  But  everything  will  be  all  right  when  he  gets 
there,"  his  sister  remarked,  with  cheerful  con- 
fidence. 

"  He  won't  get  there  till  Saturday  noon," 
Shepleigh  rejoined,  shortly.  "  That  's  a  good 
while  to  spend  on  a  red-hot  gridiron  !  " 

The  canoe,  meanwhile,  had  disappeared  among 
the  islands.  No  one  thought  of  anything  con- 
soling to  say,  and  with  one  accord  the  company 
turned  and  strolled  aimlessly  up  to  the  camp. 

"  I  shall  start  for  home  to-morrow,"  Dole  re- 
marked, as  he  and  Shepleigh  walked  together  up 
the  path  which  the  feet  of  the  campers  had  already 
worn  in  the  sparse  grass.  "  You  can  spare  me  a 
canoe  when  Dan  gets  back,  and  I  know  the  way. ' ' 

"  Good  ! "  Shepleigh  exclaimed,  reviving 
somewhat  under  the  prospect  of  action  ;  "  and, 
look  here,  Dole,  you  may  as  well  send  the  team 
back  for  the  rest  of  us.  Then  we  can  get  out  on 
Sunday,  and  be  at  home  by  Monday  night. 
What  do  you  say,  girls  ?  We  don't  want  to  loaf 
around  here  any  longer." 

The  proposition  met  with  unanimous  approval. 

Presently  Dole  said  to  Ruth  :  "  You  can  just 
catch  the  gleam  of  the  paddles  over  there  beyond 
that  rocky  island.  Come  and  see  !  "  and  they 
walked  back  to  the  shore. 


Out  of  a  Clear  Sky  235 

At  first  they  could  not  find  the  canoe,  but  then 
the  eye  was  caught  by  a  white  flash  that  came 
and  went  at  regular  intervals.  Ruth,  in  whose 
brain  the  pulse  of  the  paddles  still  beat,  noted 
that  the  stroke  had  not  varied  by  a  second  since 
they  started  out.  She  stood,  her  hands  clasped 
in  front  of  her,  gazing  sadly  across  the  shining 
waters.  Harkness  Dole  looked  down  upon  her 
intently,  as  he  said,  in  a  quiet,  matter-of-fact 
voice  :  "  You  care  very  much,  Ruth,  do  you 
not  ?  " 

Then  Ruth,  too  absorbed  in  her  own  feeling  to 
mind  betraying  it,  too  single-hearted  for  any  per- 
sonal disclaimer,  said  :  "  Yes  ;  I  care  very  much.'1 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

UNDER   A  CLOUD. 

THE  period  which  had  passed  so  happily  for 
Frank  Truxton  in  the  wilds  of  Maine  had 
been  a  time  of  much  anxiety  and  depres- 
sion in  the  ranks  of  the  good  old  Pilgrim  Savings 
Bank.    For  a  week  past,  deep  gloom  had  held  pos- 
session of  the  pilgrims,  a  gloom  which  no  efforts 
of  mural  decorators  could  dispel,  which  yielded 
not  to  the  perennial  though  unconscious  humors 
of  the  depositor,  a  gloom  which  even  Flynn  him- 
self made  no  effort  to  lighten. 

The  discovery  of  a  shortage  of  ten  thousand 
dollars  in  the  cash  was  in  itself  a  prett)^  serious 
matter,  but  that  any  member  of  the  gang — and 
Frank  Truxton  of  all  others — should  be  under 
suspicion  cast  a  well-nigh  intolerable  reflection 
upon  the  men  as  a  body.  One  short  week  ago 
they  would  have  been  prepared  to  maintain, 
against  all  comers,  the  personal  integrity  of  every 
man  on  the  pay-roll  of  the  Pilgrim  Savings  Bank. 
For  seventy-five  years  the  institution  had  been  a 
236 


Under  a  Cloud  237 

great  financial  stronghold  of  the  city,  for  seventy- 
five  years  its  servants  had  regarded  themselves 
and  one  another  as  sharing  the  invulnerability  of 
the  bank  itself.  And  now  all  that  was  changed, 
and  there  was  not  a  man  among  them  who  did 
not  feel  that  the  pilgrims  as  a  body  were  under 
a  cloud. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  they  did  not  at  once 
succumb  to  these  mournful  suggestions.  When, 
on  the  Monday  morning,  Plummer,  returning 
from  his  vacation,  took  over  the  custody  of  the 
cash-box,  and  made  a  rapid  comparison  of  the 
figures  noted  on  the  packages  of  bills  with  Trux- 
ton's  memorandum,  the  discrepancy  caused  him 
only  a  sensation  of  annoyance  that  he  should  have 
blundered.  Aleck  Plummer  had  little  patience 
with  inaccuracy  in  himself  or  others,  and,  never 
doubting  that  Trux ton's  more  careful  count  had 
been  the  correct  one,  he  merely  concluded  that 
vacations  were  demoralizing  things. 

It  was  not  until  the  middle  of  the  morning  that 
he  found  time  to  verify  his  reckoning,  and  then  the 
sentiment  of  annoyance  was  only  transferred  to 
Truxton's  account.  The  books  would  show  a 
clerical  error  on  Truxton's  part — that  was  all. 
But- the  task  of  going  over  the  books  devolved 
upon  him,  Aleck  Plummer,  and  he  was  anything 
but  pleased  at  the  prospect.  He  mentioned  to 
Mr.  Smith,  the  vice-treasurer,  that  he  had  got  to 
dig  out  an  error  of  Truxton's  to  the  tune  of  ten 
thousand  dollars,  upon  which  Mr.  Smith  replied, 


238  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

consolingly  :  "  An  easier  error  to  track  than  ten 
cents  would  have  been.  Rand  was  a  million  out 
one  day  last  week,  but  it  did  n't  take  him  long  to 
find  it  !" 

When,  by  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  Plummer 
had  failed  to  trace  the  presumable  error,  he  was 
sufficiently  uncomfortable  about  it  to  report  to 
Mr.  Smith  at  his  residence.  The  latter  was  the 
more  annoyed  at  the  news  because  of  the  fact  that 
his  chief,  Mr.  Seymour,  was  sailing  from  New 
York  for  Bremen  the  following  morning,  so  that 
the  brunt  of  any  difficulty  which  might  arise 
would  come  upon  the  vice-treasurer. 

' '  Deuced  careless  of  Truxton !  "  he  said.  ' '  We 
shall  have  to  have  him  back.  Do  you  know 
where  he  is  gone  ?  ' ' 

"  There  was  some  talk  of  his  going  to  Nova 
Scotia  with  Rand  and  Stone  when  I  went  away. 
He  will  have  left  his  address." 

But  when  inquiry  was  made,  the  next  morning, 
it  was  found  that  the  Nova  Scotia  address  had 
been  cancelled,  that  the  Monday  morning  mail 
had  brought  directions  to  hold  his  letters.  A 
telegram  was  sent  to  Rand  at  Wolfville,  but  it 
elicited  no  information  beyond  the  fact  that  Trux- 
ton had  backed  out  at  the  last  minute,  and  later 
in  the  day  a  messenger  was  despatched  to  Miss 
Vickery,  who  replied  that  her  nephew  had  left  no 
address.  The  affair  began  to  look  serious,  and  a 
special  meeting  of  the  directors  was  called  to  con- 
sider the  proper  course  of  action.  A  detective 


Under  a  Cloud  239 

was  quietly  put  on  the  case,  and  the  missing  clerk 
was  traced  to  the  St.  John's  Express.  Then  the 
fatal  word  "  Canada  "  got  itself  insinuated  among 
the  speculations  of  the  pilgrims,  and  each  man 
became  vociferous  in  asseverations  of  Truxton's 
being  ' '  all  right. ' '  Before  that,  they  had  scorned 
to  make  declarations  in  his  favor.  To  call  a  man 
innocent  is  to  admit  the  possibility  of  his  guilt. 
Now  they  openly  stood  up  for  him. 

And,  although  even  the  directors,  most  of  whom 
had  no  acquaintance  with  the  young  man,  were 
willing  to  suspend  judgment  until  the  period  of 
his  vacation  had  expired,  there  was  a  tension  in 
the  air  all  through  the  days  that  followed,  and 
Truxton's  firmest  supporters  were  uneasy. 

"  If  it  had  been  anybody  but  Truxton !  "  Andy 
Stone  would  lament  ;  "  I  say,  Judson,  if  it  were 
you  we  should  know  how  to  bear  it  !  "  And  if 
Judson  thought  of  no  happy  retort,  he  for  once 
escaped  any  strictures  upon  his  lack  of  humor. 
Andy  Stone's  sally  was  considered  to  be  in  ques- 
tionable taste. 

And,  after  all,  the  chief  mourner  on  this  occa- 
sion was  Flynn.  Somehow  or  other  the  old  man 
had  got  wind  of  the  trouble  even  before  the  blood- 
curdling publication  of  it  in  the  Evening  Spy,  and 
the  genuineness  of  his  sorrow  was  not  to  be  ques- 
tioned. The  most  marked  indication  of  afflic- 
tion was  to  be  found  in  the  fact  that  he.had  nothing 
to  say  on  the  subject.  It  was  one  morning,  the 
latter  part  of  the  first  week,  that  he  had  gone  to 


240  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

Rathbone  for  verification  of  the  rumor  which  had 
reached  him,  and,  upon  Rathbone's  admission  that 
there  was  something  they  did  not  quite  under- 
stand, he  had  retired  definitively  behind  the 
Morning  Trumpeter,  from  which  retreat  he  only 
emerged  upon  compulsion.  That  he  was  pre- 
occupied with  other  subjects  of  thought  than  the 
long  words  was  evident  from  the  fact  that  he  was 
discovered  more  than  once  holding  the  newspaper 
upside-down. 

The  esteem  and  confidence  which  Flynn  en- 
joyed among  his  colleagues  was  in  nothing  more 
clearly  demonstrated  than  in  the  fact  that  it  did 
not  once  occur  to  anyone  to  tax  him  with  the  in- 
discretion by  means  of  which  news  of  the  trouble 
had  found  its  way  into  the  unscrupulous  hands 
of  the  Evening  Spy.  Somebody  had  blundered, 
but  no  one  thought  of  Flynn  as  the  culprit. 

The  paragraph  in  the  paper  had  given  the  fin- 
ishing touch  of  tragedy  to  the  situation,  and 
although  the  bank  authorities  had  succeeded  in 
suppressing  further  mention  of  the  affair  in  that 
or  in  other  and  more  respectable  sheets,  the  open 
stigma  added  not  a  little  to  the  poignancy  of  the 
situation. 

Truxton,  meanwhile,  was  due  on  Monday 
morning,  and,  as  the  time  drew  near,  all  con- 
cerned— all  but  Flynn,  that  is  to  say — took  heart 
of  hope. 

"  I  say,  fellows,"  Harvey  Winch  remarked, 
towards  noon  on  Saturday,  "  won't  it  be  a  '  sight 


Under  a  Cloud  241 

for  sair  een  '  when  Frank  Truxton  turns  up  here 
Monday  morning  !  " 

"  I  've  been  thinking  he  might  happen  in  to- 
day," said  Wilkinson,  with  a  ponderous  attempt 
at  a  light  view  of  the  case.  "  If  he  should  be 
anywhere  about  he  'd  want  his  letters  ;  "  and  the 
speaker  mentally  wished  there  had  not  been 
among  the  letters  a  communication  from  the 
Highflyer  Mining  and  Milling  Company  of  Cripple 
Creek,  and  that  he  had  not  been  forced  to  admit 
as  much  to  Mr.  Smith.  Truxton  was  straight 
enough,  of  course,  but  it  was  a  pity  for  a  young 
fellow  to  fool  away  his  money  on  trash  like  that. 

And  even  while  the  faithful  Wilkinson  was  in 
the  act  of  assuring  himself  that  Truxton  was 
"  straight  enough,"  the  pilgrims  were  electrified 
by  the  sudden  entrance  of  the  missing  clerk. 

Truxton,  as  he  entered  the  door,  looked  neither 
to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  but  walked  straight  to 
the  treasurer's  private  office  ;  yet  the  mere  sight 
of  his  lithe  young  figure,  with  the  familiar  car- 
riage of  the  head,  and  the  unfamiliar  but  firm  and 
convincing  lines  of  the  deeply  tanned  countenance, 
revived  their  drooping  spirits  like  a  breath  of  fresh 
air  in  a  suffocating  enclosure. 

"-Thank  the  Lord,  that  's  over  !  "  was  young 
Beardsley's  pious  exclamation. 

Truxton  found  Mr.  Smith  alone  at  his  desk. 
The  vice-treasurer  looked  up  as  the.  young  man 
entered,  and  he,  too,  felt  the  convincing  force  of 

his  personality. 
16 


242  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

"Well,  Truxton,"  he  cried;  "I  'm  glad  to 
see  you. ' ' 

' '  Thank  you,  sir, ' '  and  Truxton  drew  the  fateful 
newpaper  from  his  pocket.  He  had  not  once  re- 
read the  paragraph,  but  he  knew  every  word  of  it. 

"  Perhaps  you  can  tell  me  what  this  means,"  he 
said,  laying  the  paper  upon  the  desk,  as  if  he  could 
not  bear  to  have  it  pass  from  his  hand  to  another. 

' '  Yes  ;  we  saw  it.  Most  unfortunate,  most  un- 
fortunate !  Take  a  seat,  won't  you  ?  We  gave 
them  a  quietus,  and  we  don't  think  it  has  been 
widely  read." 

Truxton  declined  the  proffered  chair. 

"  But  what  does  it  mean,  sir  ?  "  he  asked  again. 

"  It  means," — and  Mr.  Smith  contracted  his 
brow,  and  scrutinized  Truxton's  face  attentively, 
— "  it  means  that  when  Plummer  took  over  the 
cash  on  the  eighth,  he  found  it  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars short  !  " 

"  Ten  thousand  dollars  !  "  Truxton  repeated. 
' '  Ten  thousand  dollars  !  ' ' 

As  the  young  man  stood  pondering  this  state- 
ment, Henry  Smith,  who  was  a  keen  observer  of 
his  fellow-men,  was  aware  of  a  marked  change  in 
him.  The  face  was  worn  and  tense,  the  figure 
seemed,  somehow,  more  closely  knit,  more  capa- 
ble of  resistance. 

"  Where  were  you  when  you  saw  this  ?  ' '  Smith 
asked. 

"  In  the  backwoods  of  Maine,  camping  on  Mir- 
ror Pond." 


Under  a  Cloud  243 

"  And  that  was?  " 

"  Thursday  afternoon." 

"  How  did  you  get  out  so  quickly  ?  " 

"  I  walked  most  of  the  night  to  Parlin  Pond 
and  got  the  stage  for  Skowhegan." 

"  H'm!  I  know  the  region.  There's  no  night 
train  from  Skowhegan.  How  the  deuce  did  you 
get  here  ?  ' ' 

' '  I  got  a  fellow  to  drive  me  to  Waterville  and 
struck  the  five-fifty  train  this  morning.  We  made 
connection  with  the  eight-thirty-five  train  from 
Portland.  We  were  nearly  three  minutes  late 
here." 

Truxton  recited  all  this  as  carefully  as  if  he  had 
been  in  the  witness-box,  but  all  the  time  his  brain 
was  working,  hammering  away  at  one  thing  as  it 
had  been  doing  for  the  last  forty-eight  hours — 
namely,  how  could  that  gold  certificate  have  got 
lost  ? 

"  Well,  I  'm  glad  to  see  you,  Truxton,  I  'm 
glad  to  see  you,"  the  vice-treasurer  reiterated  ; 
' '  and  I  rather  guess  that  you  and  Plummer  to- 
gether can  get  at  this  thing." 

"  Mr.  Smith,"  Truxton  asked,  suddenly,  "  do 
you  know  whether  Plummer  found  that  ten-thou- 
saiid-dollar  gold  certificate  all  right  ?  " 

"  Teu-thousand-dollar  gold  certificate  ?  What 
the  devil  do  you  mean  ?  ' ' 

"  I  gave  Mr.  Seymour  ten  thousand  in  bills  for 
one  certificate." 

"  Good   L,ord,    Truxton  !      You  must  be  off 


244  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

your  head !  We  never  handle  single  certificates 
to  that  amount  !  There  's  never  any  occasion 
for  it." 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  that,"  said 
Truxton  ;  "  but  Mr.  Seymour  will  remember  it. 
Has  he  gone  home  for  the  day  ?  ' ' 

An  ugly  suspicion  crossed  the  vice- treasurer's 
mind. 

"  I  suppose  you  did  n't  happen  to  know  that 
Mr.  Seymour  sailed  for  Europe  last  week  Tues- 
day ?" 

"  Why,  no!  I  don't  know  anything  that  has 
been  going  on  for  the  last  two  weeks." 

"  It  was  generally  known  a  week  before  you 
left  town." 

"  Very  likely."  And  the  younger  man's  tone 
and  bearing  stiffened  curiously. 

Truxton  had  caught  the  shadow  of  mistrust  on 
the  vice-treasurer's  face.  It  was  worse  than  the 
public  denunciation.  But  he  did  not  flinch.  He 
had  had  two  days  and  nights  in  which  to  steel 
himself  against  any  outward  betrayal  of  feeling. 

"  There  's  nothing  to  prevent  your  verifying 
my  statement,"  he  remarked,  quietly;  "  Mr.  Sey- 
mour happened  to  mention  to  me  that  the  trans- 
action was  made  for  the  Seventh  National." 

Smith's  face  cleared. 

' '  Of  course,  of  course  !  "  he  said. 

Smith's  face  cleared,  but  it  never  looked  quite 
the  same  to  Truxton  again. 

After  a  little  more  talk :  ' '  Do  you  know  whether 


Under  a  Cloud  245 

my  aunt,  Miss  Vickery,  has  been  disturbed  about 
this  ?  "  Truxton  asked. 

"  I  think  not.  We  sent  to  inquire  for  your 
address  on  Tuesday,  and  on  Wednesday,  after  the 
director's  meeting,  Mr.  Caleb  Ware  went  out  to 
call  upon  her,  and  learn  what  he  could.  Mr. 
Ware,  I  think,  has  some  family  association  with 
your  aunt  and  he  made  a  pretext  of  renewing  an 
old  acquaintance." 

So  Ruth's  father  had  been  to  see  Aunt  Lucretia, 
— on  her  day,  too,  Truxton  thought,  with  a  melan- 
choly ghost  of  sympathetic  pleasure.  He  won- 
dered whether  Mr.  Ware's  face,  as  he  talked  with 
her  of  her  nephew,  had  worn  that  intolerable  ex- 
pression that  had  played  about  the  vice-treasurer's 
lips  a  moment  ago.  At  least  she  would  not  have 
perceived  it ;  her  senses  had  not  been  sharpened 
in  advance. 

Suddenly  Truxton  took  a  seat  rather  abruptly. 

"  That  's  right,"  said  Mr.  Smith,  his  equa- 
nimity quite  restored  ;  ' '  as  soon  as  Plummer  can 
be  spared  at  the  counter  we  '11  have  him  up." 

"  It  's  very  idiotic,  sir,"  Truxton  replied,  in  a 
tone  of  extreme  self-disgust ;  "  but — I  believe  I 
had  better  have  some  dinner  before  we  do  any 
more  talking.  I  don't  think  I  have  eaten  any- 
thing very  lately,  and  I  feel — hollow." 

' '  You  must  be  pretty  well  played  out, ' '  Smith 
said,  good-naturedly  ;  "we  shall  look  for  you 
back  soon  after  hours. ' ' 

It  had  been  only  a  passing  seizure,  and  Truxton 


246  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

walked  straight  enough  as  he  left  the  office.  A 
dozen  friendly  faces  were  turned  towards  him,  but 
he  did  not  look  their  way.  Much  less  did  he  see 
a  pair  of  sharp  black  eyes,  watching  him  intently 
from  the  doorway  of  the  back  office.  It  was  a 
busy  day,  and  depositors  were  coming  and  going. 
As  Truxton  dodged  one  or  two  approaching 
figures,  he  suddenly  came  face  to  face  with 
Flynn.  The  old  man  was  standing  just  outside 
the  doorway,  on  the  upper  step.  He  held  his  silk 
hat  in  his  right  hand,  and  his  eyes  blinked  vio- 
lently in  the  sun. 

."  Misther  Trooxton,"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  it  's 
glad  I  am  to  see  yez  back  !  "  and  then,  as  Trux- 
ton shook  hands  with  him,  in  rather  a  dazed  and 
absent  way,  the  old  man  drew  close  to  him,  and, 
while  his  voice  dropped  to  a  note  of  feeling  it  had 
never  before  betrayed,  he  said,  "And  Misther 
Trooxton,  sorr,  there  's  not  a  man  in  the  bank 
that  's  not  your  frind,  whativer  yez  done  wid  the 
money  !  ' ' 

Before  Truxton  could  recover  his  equilibrium, 
after  this  astounding  expression  of  sympathy,  the 
queer  old  figure  in  shiny  broadcloth  had  disap- 
peared in  the  crowd.  His  mind  loosed  its  hold 
on  it  almost  as  soon  as  it  had  vanished,  and  once 
more  this  young  man  who  had  annihilated  space 
and  tried  to  annihilate  time  to  the  attainment  of 
a  certain  end,  discovered  that  he  was  conscious 
of  but  one  imperative  need,  namely,  to  stay  the 
pangs  of  hunger  at  any  cost. 


Under  a  Cloud  247 

And,  since  he  had  not  observed  those  sharp 
black  eyes  in  the  rear  doorway,  he  could  not  pos- 
sibly be  aware  of  the  effect  the  sight  of  him  had 
had  upon  their  owner. 

Tim,  meanwhile,  under  cover  ot  the  shadowy 
recess,  was  masticating  violently,  in  an  effort  to 
control  emotions  which  suddenly  threatened  to 
take  the  upper  hand  of  him.  For  be  it  known 
that  this  young  apprentice  in  crime  had  made 
some  little  progress  in  the  conquest  over  his  own 
moral  nature  since  that  day,  just  two  weeks  ago, 
when  he  had  sat  disconsolate  at  the  closed  door 
of  the  bank. 

On  Sunday  morning  the  yellow-journalism  of 
the  city  had  devoted  itself  to  the  special  and  par- 
ticular glorification  of  a  young  bank  messenger 
who,  having  absconded  with  a  large  sum  of 
money,  had  been  traced  and  brought  back, — not 
ignominiously,  but  in  a  blaze  of  fame  and  splendor. 
Had  he  not  been  depicted  as  the  central  figure  of 
a  distinguished  group  of  detectives  and  Iaw3rers, 
lolling  in  elegant  desuetude  amid  the  velvety  up- 
holstery and  gleaming  mirrors  of  a  Pullman  car  ? 
Had  not  his  name,  accompanied  by  such  flattering 
epithets  as  "daring,"  "reckless,"  "young  in 
yeajs  but  old  in  crime,"  been  assigned  a  larger 
type  than  that  accorded  to  the  name  of  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States  in  connection  with  that 
high  functionary's  latest  utterance  upon  a  grave 
international  complication  ?  The  glamour  of  the 
situation  had  fascinated  Tim,  and  when  Monday 


248  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

morning  came  he  found  it  quite  impossible  to  do 
anything  so  commonplace  as  to  drop  the  money 
under  the  paying-teller's  desk. 

And  so  it  came  about  that  through  those  two 
weeks  Tim  had  walked  as  in  a  dream  of  self- 
importance,  feeling  himself  always  on  the  point 
of  taking  the  decisive  step,  of  fleeing  to  Canada, 
pursued  by  vigilant  detectives,  and  playing  the 
leading  part  in  whatever  drama  might  spring  from 
the  exciting  situation. 

But  Tim  knew  little  of  his  own  nature  and  of 
its  hitherto  dormant  susceptibilities.  When,  on 
that  bright  September  morning,  Frank  Truxton 
had  entered  the  bank  and  walked  straight  to  the 
treasurer's  office  ;  when,  from  a  distance,  the  lad 
had  watched  through  the  open  door  the  grave 
faces  of  both  men  in  earnest  conversation  ;  above 
all,  when  Truxton  had  left  the  private  office  and 
walked  away,  with  that  desperate  look  on  his 
face,  not  giving  a  glance  to  right  or  left,  an  over- 
whelming sense  of  personal  affliction  had  seized 
upon  Tim.  He  suddenly  realized  that  it  was  an 
individual  man,  and  not  a  soulless  institution  that 
he  was  injuring.  He  remembered,  too,  that  no 
one  in  the  bank  had  been  so  kind  to  him  as  Mr. 
Truxton.  Had  he  not  always  had  a  pleasant  word 
for  Tim  ?  Had  he  not  let  him  off  with  a  bit  of 
good-natured  chaff  when  he,Tim,had  carried  about 
one  of  his  letters  without  mailing  it  for  a  whole 
day  and  night  ? — in  the  very  pocket,  Tim  reflected, 
in  which  he  had  carried  for  a  much  longer  period 


Under  a  Cloud  249 

that  enormous  sum  of  money,  the  loss  of  which 
was  to  be  a  kind  friend's  ruin  !  Above  all,  had 
he  not  given  him  a  quarter  for  the  circus,  only 
three  weeks  ago,  thanks  to  which  munificence 
Tim  had  witnessed  the  most  blood-curdling  acro- 
batic feats  and  made  acquaintance  with  the  quips 
and  cranks  of  a  phenomenal  clown  ?  And  now 
they  would  doubtless  send  Mr.  Truxton  to  jail 
and  break  his  heart.  It  was  almost  broken  al- 
ready,— anybody  could  see  that  with  half  an  eye  ! 

At  this  juncture  Tim  pulled  the  chewing-gum 
from  his  mouth  and  stuffed  it  into  his  pocket. 
In  some  vague  way  he  felt  that  he  was  doing 
penance  by  this  momentary  renunciation  of  his 
dearest  solace.  It  was  not  fitting  that  he  should 
chew  gum  while  his  victim  suffered. 

As  he  stood  in  the  shadow,  casting  about  him, 
dejectedly,  for  some  means  of  restoring  the  money 
without  incriminating  himself,  his  eye  fell  upon 
the  old  linen  coat  which  he  had  fetched  for  Mr. 
Truxton  on  that  memorable  Saturday.  He  re- 
membered the  ' '  Thank  you,  Tim !  "  he  had  got 
for  the  small  service.  There  was  not  another 
man  in  the  bank  who  would  have  found  it  worth 
while  to  say  "  thank  you."  Tim  sidled  up  to  the 
coat,  as  it  hung  there,  and  laid  his  face  against 
it,  and  slowly  a  big  tear  squeezed  its  way  out  of 
each  of  those  sharp  black  eyes,  and  was  viciously 
rubbed  off — not  without  carrying  some  foreign 
deposit  with  it.  And  then, — Tim  had  an  in- 
spiration ! 


250  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

Glancing  furtively  about,  to  assure  himself  that 
he  was  not  observed,  he  thrust  his  hand  into  his 
trousers  pocket  and  pulled  out  the  much  crumpled 
gold  certificate  which  he  had  so  often  fingered 
and  gloated  over.  With  another  quick  look  to 
right  and  left,  such  as  a  squirrel  will  give  before 
making  deposit  of  a  nut  in  a  hollow  tree,  he 
jammed  the  much-adventured  bill  into  an  outside 
pocket  of  the  linen  coat. 

' '  Tim  !  ' ' 

The  sudden  sound  of  his  name  sent  an  earth- 
quake shock  through  his  system!  It  was  only 
Old  Barry,  who  had  dropped  the  cap  of  his  stylo- 
graphic  pen  and  wanted  Tim  to  find  it.  And, 
while  the  boy  pounced  with  alacrity  upon  the 
missing  pen-cap,  and  a  deaf  woman  at  the  counter, 
being  asked  her  name,  persisted  in  replying,  with 
bland  patience,  "  Forty,  yes  ;  forty  dollars  !  " 
the  old  coat  hung,  limp  and  neglected,  in  the 
dark  corner,  and  evinced  no  intention  of  divulg- 
ing the  secret  that  had  been  entrusted  to  it. 

But  Tim,  in  his  queer,  twisted  little  soul,  be- 
lieved that  he  had  made  restitution  ;  and  so 
cheered  was  he  by  the  removal  of  the  oppressive 
incubus  he  had  so  long  carried  about  with  him, 
that  he  hastily  repaired,  after  bank  hours,  to  a 
certain  floating  pier  at  the  foot  of  a  flight  of  slimy 
green  steps,  where  he  relieved  his  feelings  by 
practising  a  double-shuffle  learned  of  the  clown 
at  the  circus.  But,  alas  !  as  his  spirits  rose  he 
became  reckless,  and,  forgetting  the  manifest  in- 


Under  a  Cloud 


251 


security  of  the  little  stage  on  which  he  was  exe- 
cuting this  difficult  feat,  he  lost  his  balance  and 
came  down  with  a  broken  arm  and  sprained  ankle 
on  the  treacherous  pier. 

It  was  a  limp  little  figure  that  the  hospital  peo- 
ple carried  up  the  narrow,  slippery  steps  an  hour 
later,  and  the  small,  haggard  face  was  drawn  with 
anguish.  The  hospital  people,  marvelling  at  his 
pluck  and  endurance,  never  guessed  that  the  little 
Mick  was  upheld  by  the  consciousness  that  no 
certificate  for  ten  thousand  dollars  lurked  in  his 
trousers  pocket  ! 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

POOR    EVERYBODY  ! 

IT  is  perhaps  given  to  few  persons  to  take  things 
as  easily  as  Frank  Truxton  had  done  up  to 
this  time.  Those  three  qualities  which  Hark- 
ness  Dole  had  commented  upon,  namely  :  good 
sense,  good  perceptions,  and  good  humor,  had 
proved  a  sufficient  equipment  for  such  crises  of 
life  as  he  had  heretofore  encountered.  By  force  of 
one  or  the  other  of  them  he  had  found  himself 
easily  equal  to  each  situation  which  had  presented 
itself ;  by  virtue  of  all  three  he  had,  from  the  out- 
set, made  light  of  sacrifices  and  discovered  com- 
pensations, and  he  had  even  of  late  been  acquiring 
a  skill  in  moulding  circumstances  to  more  am- 
bitious uses  than  any  he  had  at  first  imagined. 

Now,  of  a  sudden,  he  was  brought  face  to  face 
with  a  situation  demanding  something  different 
from  those  ' '  domestic  virtues  ' '  of  which  he  had 
spoken  so  disparagingly.  Here  was  a  dilemma 
which  involved,  first  of  all,  acute  mental  suffer- 
ing. Somehow  or  other  he  had  got  to  brace  him- 
252 


Poor  Everybody  !  253 

self  to  meet  that,  while,  at  the  same  time,  he 
seemed  denied  the  relief  of  active  conflict. 

On  Saturday  evening,  after  a  fruitless  interview 
with  Plummer  and  the  vice-treasurer,  he  had  at 
least  had  the  resource  of  collecting  rents  and 
somewhat  straightening  out  the  fortnight's  ac- 
counts, and  that  night  he  had  slept  the  sleep  of 
utter  exhaustion.  When  he  awoke,  his  soul  re- 
volted against  the  day.  Perceiving  which,  he  at 
once  took  himself  in  hand  and  became,  in  very 
self-defence,  the  hardest  possible  master  to  him- 
self. 

As  a  first  step  in  that  bracing  process  which 
was  so  manifestly  necessary,  he  decreed  that  he 
was  to  go  to  church  with  Miss  Vickery — to  face 
the  little  local  congregation  among  whom  he  was 
well  aware  that  the  Evening  Spy  was  widely 
read.  As  he  walked  up  the  main  aisle  to  the 
family  pew,  he  thought  it  highly  probable  that 
the  tall  old  woman  at  his  side  was  the  only  wholly 
unconscious  person  present,  and  he  was  amazed 
to  find  how  little  he  minded  this  presumable 
curiosity  and  suspicion  in  the  abstract,  when  com- 
pared with  that  one  shadow  of  mistrust  that  had 
crossed  the  vice-treasurer's  face. 

From  the  Reverend  Mr.  Dillaway  he  learned, 
on  this  occasion,  that  life  is  a  discipline — a  gen- 
eral proposition  which  he  was  obliged  to  accept, 
though  he  found  himself  curiously  antagonized 
by  the  preacher's  manner  of  establishing  it. 
Nevertheless,  he  listened  respectfully  to  his 


254  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

aunt's  encomiums  upon  this  admirer  of  her  favor- 
ite poet,  and  he  cheerfully  assured  her  that  he  did 
not  see  how  anyone  could  be  better  fitted  for  the 
post  he  occupied  than  the  reverend  gentleman  in 
question. 

As  a  further  step  in  the  process  of  bracing, 
Truxton  brought  himself  to  tell  his  aunt,  at  their 
noonday  meal,  something  of  the  life  in  camp, 
though  the  exercise  was  about  as  agreeable  as 
one  and  another  method  of  slow  torture,  the  in- 
struments of  which  he  had  studied  in  certain 
mediaeval  chambers  of  horror. 

In  the  afternoon  he  allowed  himself  a  long 
tramp  into  the  country.  He  might  run  away  all 
he  liked,  he  told  himself,  there  was  not  much  that 
he  could  escape  from.  But  at  least  he  could  get 
out  of  the  city,  this  horrible,  hard,  uncompromis- 
ing conglomeration  of  bricks  and  paving-stones, 
of  men  and  women  who  read  the  papers  and  make 
complacent  note  of  the  fact  that  a  man's  name  has 
been  dragged  in  the  mud  and  rendered  unfit  to 
pass  the  lips  of  decent  people.  His  name  !  His 
name  !  It  was  the  thought  of  his  name  that  kept 
dull,  monotonous  time  to  the  tramp  of  his  feet 
upon  the  pavement.  The  truth  had  never  before 
been  brought  home  to  him,  that  a  man's  name 
stood  for  the  vital  part  of  him  ;  that  to  sully  his 
name  was  to  sully  his  very  soul.  Somehow  the 
rest  of  it  did  not  seem  so  important.  And  here 
the  pavement  ended,  and  the  sound  of  his  own 
feet  became  less  insistent  on  the  gravel  walk. 


Poor  Everybody  /  255 

Of  course  this  disaster  meant  financial  ruin. 
The  money  was  gone ;  that  was  clear.  He  should 
make  good  the  loss  to  the  bank,  but  it  would  be 
at  the  sacrifice  not  only  of  the  little  he  possessed, 
but  of  whatever  he  had  hoped  for.  Nor  was  that 
all.  He  should  lose  his  place,  his  means  of  live- 
lihood ;  the  bank  examiners  would  see  to  that, 
even  though,  by  a  miracle,  the  personal  bias  of 
the  authorities  might  counsel  leniency. 

Furthermore, — and  he  experienced  a  grim  sat- 
isfaction in  enumerating  all  the  different  heads 
under  which  his  misfortunes  ranged  themselves, — 
furthermore,  he  would  be  hopelessly  debarred 
from  any  other  position  of  trust.  And  here  he 
was  again  at  the  starting-point — his  name.  His 
personal  friends  might  be  as  loyal  as  they  would, 
and  he  could  not,  even  in  his  most  despairing 
moment  conceive  of  his  actual  character  being 
impugned  by  those  who  knew  him  ;  his  good 
name, — that  was  lost,  and  in  comparison  with  that 
the  rest  mattered  not  a  whit. 

Presently,  a  mile  beyond  the  city  limits,  he 
came  opposite  a  little  knoll  crowned  with  pine- 
trees,  and  involuntarily  his  feet  took  that  direc- 
tion. He  threw  himself  down  like  the  veriest 
tramp  on  the  pine-needles,  and  buried  his  face  in 
them,  and  for  the  moment  his  spirit  was  appeased. 

All  this  time  he  had  been  holding  the  very 
thought  of  Ruth  at  arm's  length  ;  now  it  drew 
near  in  the  deep,  strong  aroma  of  the  earth  and 
the  pines,  and  there  was  healing  in  it.  For  the 


256  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

first  time  in  three  days  he  allowed  himself  to 
dwell  upon  the  memory  of  her  face  as  she  had  stood 
beside  him,  upon  the  tone  and  gesture  with  which 
she  had  said  :  "  They  are  as  fit  for  me  as  for 
you  ! ."  Yes,  there  was  a  spirit  of  loyalty  in  Ruth 
that  would  make  her  a  thousand  times  more  ready 
to  share  a  man's  adversity  than  his  prosperity. 
To  share  it  ?  Had  it  come  to  that  ? 

A  sudden,  exultant  certainty  possessed  him  and 
he  sprang  to  his  feet  to  meet  it.  He  looked  across 
a  squalid  little  group  of  houses  below  there,  to  a 
line  of  hills  beyond.  An  autumn  haze  rested  upon 
them  and  transformed  them ;  they  were  the  eternal 
hills,  ethereal,  brooding,  fraught  with  infinite 
suggestion ;  they  were  like  Ruth's  face — a  thought 
of  God  ! 

He  lingered  on  the  little  eminence  whence  the 
hills  were  visible  ;  he  lingered  upon  the  thought 
of  Ruth.  And  from  the  thought  of  Ruth  he 
slowly  and  surely  gathered  strength  to  renounce 
her. 

There  was  nothing  dramatic  about  this  resolve 
of  Truxton's ;  he  himself  scarcely  realized  its  force 
and  reach.  It  was  only  a  quiet,  profound  setting 
of  his  nature  against  any  advantage  to  be  gained 
through  that  compassionateness,  that  chivalry  in 
Ruth — there  was  no  better  word  for  it  than  that — 
which  he  had  the  insight  to  recognize  as  the  key- 
note ot  her  character. 

There  is  rarely  anything  inspiriting  in  re- 
nunciation ;  and  when,  an  hour  later,  in  the 


Poor  Everybody  !  257 

gathering  dusk,  he  walked  up  the  well-worn  path 
between  the  lilac-bushes,  dusty  now,  and  parched, 
after  the  summer  heats,  life  seemed  to  him  to  have 
sunk  to  an  eternal  level.  He  looked  up  at  the 
old  house,  and  all  his  pride  in  it  was  gone.  He 
saw  only  its  dinginess  and  its  decay.  Aunt  Lu- 
creatia  would  die,  presently,  the  place  would  be 
sold  and  degraded  to  the  character  of  its  sur- 
roundings ;  and  he  ?  He  should  live  on,  like  the 
perennial  lilac-bushes,  marking  a  path  that  led, 
not  to  a  home  any  longer,  only  to  mean  and  sor- 
did things. 

On  the  hall  table  he  found  a  card  with  a  few 
words  written  in  a  small,  incisive  hand,  across  the 
face  of  it.  Harkness  Dole  had  called.  But  how 
could  that  be  ?  He  was  in  his  own  quarters  at 
the  Singleton  Chambers.  Would  Truxton  come 
and  have  a  picnic-supper  with  him  at  half-past 
seven  ? 

But  Dole  had  said  nothing  about  coming  up  to 
town.  What  could  it  mean  ?  Had  there  been 
an  accident  ?  Had  anybody  got  hurt  ?  Had 
Ruth —  ?  How  absurd  he  was  !  Just  because 
he,  Frank  Truxton,  had  come  to  grief,  he  need 
not  interpret  every  chance  incident  in  terms  of 
tragedy.  He  might  certainly  have  the  satisfac- 
tion of  seeing  Harkness  Dole.  Dole  always  had 
something  to  talk  about ;  he  was  always  worth 
while. 

"  I  had  no  idea  you  were  coming  up,"  he  said, 
as  Dole  bade  him  welcome. 


258  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Dole.  "  But  here  I  am.  It 
isn't  half  bad  in  the  city  to-day." 

"No?"  Truxton  demurred.  "It  seemed  to 
me — twice  that  !  " 

The  room  in  which  the  table  was  laid  was  in 
reality  a  sort  of  bachelor's  den,  though  there  were 
certain  conveniences  for  serving  a  casual  meal  like 
the  present,  and  the  serving-man  had  the  air  of 
belonging  to  the  establishment.  The  main  fur- 
nishing of  the  apartment  consisted  of  books,  the 
shelves  reaching  nearly  to  the  ceiling  and  giv- 
ing to  the  place  a  sombre  character  not  inappro- 
priate to  the  somewhat  ascetic  personality  of  the 
master. 

As  they  took  their  seats  at  table,  it  struck  the 
guest  as  rather  singular  that  he  should  not  shrink 
just  now  from  facing  this  severe,  sarcastic  counte- 
nance. Somehow  he  felt  more  sure  of  compre- 
hension at  Dole's  hands  than  at  those  of  the  men 
with  whom  he  had  long  been  on  terms  of  easy 
good-comradeship. 

"  I  brought  you  no  end  of  messages,"  Dole  was 
saying  ;  "  I  hope  you  won't  expect  me  to  get 
them  all  straight." 

"  Well,  no  ;  that  would  be  too  much.  But 
what  did — Dan  say,  for  instance  ?  " 

"  He  said,  '  Tell  him  when  he  gets  tired  of  be- 
ing in  a  hurry  he  had  better  come  back  !  '  ' 

Truxton  laughed. 

"  Dan  rather  resented  being  hauled  along  so 
fast  after  we  left  the  canoe." 


Poor  Everybody  !  259 

"  But  he  's  your  friend,  Truxton  !  He  '11  never 
forget  that  snake  !  " 

' '  Jolly  old  boy,  that  snake  was,  to  get  in  the 
way  of  my  gun !  I'm  only  glad  you  did  n't  have 
to  pay  the  piper,  Dole  !  " 

Dole  was  carving  a  chicken. 

"  I  thought  you  might  be  tired  of  game,"  he 
remarked,  as  he  severed  a  joint,  with  one  persua- 
sive incision,  "  so  I  did  n't  order  partridges — or 
muskrat  !  " 

' '  I  hope,  at  least,  you  are  going  to  top  off  with 
flapjacks  !  "  Truxton  retorted.  He  flattered 
himself  that  he  was  doing  very  well,  that  he  was 
handling  a  difficult  situation  in  rather  a  debonair 
manner  ;  and  Dole  was  very  much  of  the  same 
opinion. 

Nor  did  the  latter  see  cause  to  modify  his  view 
when,  half  an  hour  later,  they  were  left  to  them- 
selves, and  openly  broached  the  subject  of  Trux- 
ton's  embarrassment.  It  may  be,  indeed,  that 
Dole's  blazing  wood-fire,  seconded  by  a  Margarita 
Extra,  did  its  part  toward  taking  the  edge  off  the 
situation. 

Truxton  was  ready  to  tell  all  he  knew  about 
the  disaster,  and  little  enough  it  was.  A  gold 
certificate  had  somehow  got  itself  out  of  the  cash- 
box,  out  of  the  safe,  apparently  out  of  the  uni- 
verse, in  the  interval  between  Truxton 's  closing 
the  box  and  PI  manner's  opening  it. 

"  So,  you  know  the  very  piece  of  money  that  is 
gone  !  Won't  that  make  it  easier  to  find  ?  " 


260  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

"  I  don't  see  how.  At  any  rate,  it  eliminates 
all  possibility  of  any  error  in  the  books.  If  it 
were  not  for  that  we  should  feel  sure  that  it  had 
been  some  incredible  slip  there.  Figures  are  such 
inveterate  liars  !  " 

"  Do  bank  figures  lie  ?  That  is  contrary  to  the 
popular  impression." 

' '  Oh,  yes  ;  they  lie  fast  enough,  only  they  are 
pretty  sure  to  get  found  out,  sooner  or  later." 

Dole  was  leaning  back  in  his  leathern  arm- 
chair, gazing  through  the  small  rings  of  smoke 
that  curled  out  of  his  cigarette. 

' '  How  about  this  other  chap  that  came  after 
you?  Plummer  is  his  name  ?  " 

The  insinuation  was  very  slight,  but  Truxton 
bridled  instantly. 

"  What  !  Plummer  ?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Why, 
Plummer  is  as  straight  as  I  am — and  twice  as 
careful. ' ' 

"  That 's  all  very  well,"  said  Dole  ;  "  but  he  's 
human,  I  suppose.  Now  you  know  positively 
that  you  put  the  thing  into  the  box,  and,  as  he 
was  not  looking  for  it,  he  can't  know  as  positively 
whether  he  took  it  out.  At  any  rate  it  seems  to 
me  it  lies  between  you  two. ' ' 

"  That  is  because  you  don't  know  Plummer," 
Truxton  insisted,  with  stubborn,  boyish  loyalty. 

Dole  looked  at  him  half  quizzically  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  the  face  of  the  elder  man  softened, 
as  it  rarely  did. 

"  I  at  least  have  the  advantage  of your  acquaint- 


Poor  Everybody  f  261 

ance,  Truxton,"  he  said;  "and  I  don't  mind 
your  knowing  that  I  prize  it  highly  !  " 

For  the  first  time,  Truxton  changed  counte- 
nance ;  a  wave  of  feeling  broke  up,  for  an  instant, 
the  tension  which  had  been  apparent  under  his 
light  talk  and  indifferent  manner. 

"  Thanks, ' '  he  said ;  ' '  that 's  worth  hearing  !  " 

"  I  am  glad  it  does  not  offend  you,"  Dole  re- 
marked, with  a  return  to  his  habitual  manner  ; 
"  because  I  came  up  to  town  on  purpose  to  tell 
you  that,  and — to  ask  of  you  a  favor.  It 's  always 
well  to  preface  a  petition  with  a  compliment,  is  it 
not?" 

"  I  believe  so,"  Truxton  returned,  with  a  short 
laugh  ;  "  and  I  'm  glad  to  hear  that  you  have  a 
favor  to  ask.  There  is  scarcely  anything  I  should 
not  be  in  a  position  to  do  for  you,  Dole  !  "  The 
bitter  tang  of  this  little  speech  was  pathetically 
out  of  character.  Dole  ignored  it,  although  it 
had  not  been  lost  upon  him. 

"  First,  tell  me  what  you  propose  to  do,"  he 
demanded. 

' '  What  I  propose  to  do  ?  I  thought  it  was  you 
that " 

' '  What  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  "  Dole  per- 
sisted. "  I  suppose  you  '11  hardly  wait  for  the 
bank  to  take  the  initiative  ?  ' ' 

"Hardly  !" 

"  And  you  ?  " 

"  I  ?     I  shall  pay  up." 

"  You  are  able  to,  then  ?  " 


262  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

"Yes." 

"  You  have  n't  got  a  ten-thousand-dollar  bal- 
ance, I  take  it,  uninvested  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  shall  realize." 

"  Not  in  a  hurry,  I  hope." 

"Well,  the  thing  strikes  me  as  rather  urg- 
ent !" 

Dole  leaned  forward,  with  slow  deliberation, 
and  turned  one  of  the  logs,  causing  the  fire  to 
blaze  up  in  good  shape. 

"  Look  here,  Truxton,"  he  said,  as  his  tongs 
closed  upon  a  piece  of  glowing  wood  which  he 
carefully  placed  on  top  of  the  pile,  "  could  n't  we 
bridge  this  thing  over,  between  us  ?  That  real- 
estate  of  yours  requires  time." 

"  Between  us  ?  "  Truxton  repeated  ;  "  how — 
between  us  ?  " 

"  Well — the  fact  is,  I  've  got  some  bonds  that 
are  just  about  to  expire,  and " 

"They  are  not  going  to  expire  between  us!" 
Frank  replied,  rather  grimly. 

Dole  tossed  the  stump  of  his  cigarette  into  the 
fire  before  he  said,  with  a  persuasiveness  which 
was  seldom  exercised  and  rarely  resisted  :  "I 
want  you  to  use  this  money — at  least  until  I  think 
of  something  better  to  do  with  it." 

But  Truxton  closed  his  ears  and  hardened  his 
heart. 

"  Sorry  to  disoblige  you,  Dole,"  he  said, 
roughly;  "  but  this  is  a  case  where  I  have  got  to 
— paddle  my  own  canoe  !  " 


Poor  Everybody  !  263 

"  A  single  paddle  is  n't  safe  in  rough  weather," 
was  Dole's  prompt  rejoinder. 

"  Then  I  shall  have  to  swim  for  it." 

There  was  a  pause  before  either  spoke  again. 
Then  the  elder  of  the  two  observed,  musingly, 
"  It  's  bad  to  capsize  on  the  open  sea." 

"  Perhaps  so, — though  I  take  it  it  's  not  the 
drowning  that  hurts." 

Dole  sprang  to  his  feet,  with  an  impatient 
gesture,  and  Truxton,  too,  stood  up.  The  host 
reached  down  a  couple  of  pipes  from  a  rack  over 
the  chimney-piece. 

"  Cigarettes  are  pesky  artificial  things,"  he 
said  ;  "  let  's  try  a  pipe  and  talk  sense.  To  be- 
gin with,  put  yourself  in  my  place." 

"  That  's  easily  done,"  Truxton  assented. 
"  The  thing  that  can't  be  done  is  for  you  to  put 
yourself  in  my  place." 

Dole  shrugged  his  shoulders,  impatiently,  as 
he  stuffed  the  tobacco  well  down  into  his  pipe. 
Then,  resuming  his  seat,  and  leaning  back  in  his 
chair,  he  looked  across  at  Truxton  and,  half 
closing  his  eyes,  he  asked  :  "  Would  you  mind 
telling  me  your  idea  of  a  friend,  and  what  he  's 
for?" 

And  Truxton  flung  his  head  back  as  he  used 
to  do  when  they  were  in  the  heat  of  discussion 
out  there  in  the  cool  silences  of  the  forest,  and  he 
said,  with  a  ring  of  feeling  in  his  voice  :  "You 
are  my  idea  of  a  friend,  Dole  !  " 

Dole  bowed  his  head  with  mock  ceremony. 


264  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

"  And  just  what  is  his  use  ?  "  he  queried. 

"  Mainly,  I  think,  to  keep  the  life  in  a  man  ! 
See  here,  Dole  !  There  's  nothing  I  know  how 
to  say  about  your  coming  up,  and  all  that, — only 
you  never  do  need  to  have  things  explained.  But 
— when  a  man  has  only  got  one  thing  left,  he 
hangs  on  to  it.  And  I  think  you  '11  have  to  let 
me  hang  on  to  what  I  've  got." 

Dole  was  too  good  an  antagonist  not  to  know 
when  he  was  beaten. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said  ;  "  I  'm  sorry  I  've  been 
bothersome.  And  will  this  straighten  things  out 
for  you  at  the  bank  ?  ' ' 

"  Why,  yes  ;  they  don't  want  to  prosecute. 
All  they  want  is  their  money." 

"  And  there  '11  be  no  interruption  in  your " 

"  Oh,  I  can't  go  back,  of  course  !  "  Truxton 
spoke  with  quiet  self-control  ;  this  was  what  he 
had  been  drilling  himself  in  for  three  days  past. 
And  Dole,  glancing  at  the  face  turned  toward  the 
firelight,  saw  in  it  the  same  resolution  which 
governed  the  voice. 

"  I  suppose  there  is  no  one  who  doubts  you  ?  " 
and  he  felt  quite  safe  in  hazarding  the  suggestion. 

"  No  ;  I  think  not, — now.  But  a  bank  is  a 
peculiar  concern.  These  things  have  to  be  some- 
what cut-and-dried.  Besides,  there  are  the  bank 
examiners.  No,"  he  added,  with  another  short 
laugh,  "  I  don't  think  I  am  likely  to  adorn  an- 
other position  of  trust  !  ' ' 

"  And  what  is  your  plan  ?  " 


Poor  Everybody  !  265 

"To  forage  for  something  else. — That  's  an 
interesting  pair  of  faces  over  there,"  and  he 
glanced  toward  the  mantelpiece. 

"  Yes,"  said  Dole,  accepting  the  change  of  sub- 
ject, and,  rising,  he  handed  Truxton  a  frame  of 
stamped  leather,  containing  two  cabinet  photo- 
graphs. The  one  represented  a  thin-visaged  man 
of  fifty  or  thereabouts,  dressed  in  the  fashion  of 
twenty  years  ago.  The  face,  which  resembled 
Dole's,  was  handsomer  than  his,  but  not  as  good. 

"  My  father  and  my  stepmother,"  the  host  re- 
marked, seating  himself  once  more,  and  relighting 
his  pipe. 

The  stepmother,  Truxton  remembered,  was 
Ruth's  aunt.  He  thought  it  the  saddest-looking 
countenance  he  had  ever  seen — all  the  sadder  for 
the  effort  at  a  smile  which  curved  the  lips  but  did 
not  light  the  eyes. 

"  It  is  a  noble  face,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  Dole  answered,  quietly  assuming  that 
Truxton  did  not  refer  to  his  father.  ' '  She  is  said 
to  have  been  very  like  Ruth  in  her  youth.  I  can 
just  remember  her  at  the  time  of  the  marriage. 
It  was  twenty  years  later  that  she  died." 

Truxton  experienced  a  strange  sensation  ;  it 
was.  almost  as  if  a  direct  connection  had  been 
hinted  at  between  the  two  events. 

"  I  can  see  the  resemblance,"  he  said  ;  and, 
rising,  he  replaced  the  frame  upon  the  shelf.  He 
had  a  curious  feeling  of  having  opened  the  wrong 
door. 


266  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

"  Yes;  they  are  alike,"  Dole  repeated,  thought- 
fully; "  and  my  father  and  I  are  alike.  Some- 
thing singular  about  family  resemblances,"  he 
added,  with  a  sudden  drop  into  generalization. 

They  did  more  smoking  than  talking  for  the 
rest  of  the  visit,  and  their  talk  was  of  indifferent 
matters. 

As  Truxton  rose  to  take  his  leave  Dole  re- 
marked :  ' '  There  are  all  those  messages  that  I 
have  n't  given.  I  think  there  was  only  one  per- 
son in  camp  who  did  not  send  you  one." 

"  Caleb,  I  suppose." 

"  No  ;  Ruth  !  "  It  was  the  first  time  Ruth's 
name  had  been  mentioned,  in  the  present  tense, 
so  to  speak.  "  I  asked  her  if  she  had  a  message 
for  you,  and  she  said,  no,  she  should  hope  to 
see  you  soon.  Her  exact  words  were," — and  he 
passed  his  hand  absently  across  the  edge  of  the 
stamped  leather  frame, — "  her  exact  words  were  : 
'  There  is  nothing  you  could  say  to  him  from  me 
that  he  does  not  know  already.'  It  was  quite 
what  I  should  expect,"  he  added,  judicially  ; 
"  Ruth  never  mixes  things  !  " 

"  Miss  Ware  was  very  kind  the  other  day," 
Truxton  said,  quite  steadily.  "  She  understood 
at  once."  His  hand  was  on  the  door-handle. 
As  he  turned  to  go,  he  said  :  "  Will  you  tell  her 
that  I  was  grateful,  although  I  did  not  seem  so  ?  " 

"  Considering  her  views  on  the  subject  of  mes- 
sages," Dole  observed,  "  I  should  say  you  had 
better  wait  and  tell  her  yourself  !  " 


Poor  Everybody  !  267 

The  door  was  open  now. 

"I'm  afraid  I  should  have  to  wait  so  long  that 
she — might  have  forgotten  all  about  it  !  "  upon 
which  the  speaker  stepped  across  the  threshold, 
and,  with  a  hasty  ' '  Good-bye, ' '  pulled  the  door 
to. 

Dole  made  no  motion  to  detain  him.  He  only 
paused  a  moment  where  he  stood,  facing  the 
closed  door,  and,  presently,  he  turned  on  his  heel 
and  sauntered  back  into  the  room.  The  air  was 
heavy  with  tobacco  smoke.  He  stepped  to  a 
window  and  flung  the  sash  open  ;  then,  return- 
ing to  the  fireplace,  he  rested  his  arm  upon  the 
chimney-shelf,  and  stood  looking  down  into  the 
glowing  ashes. 

' '  Poor  Truxton  !  "  he  said  to  himself. 

There  was  one  of  those  absorbing  little  inci- 
dents going  on  among  the  sticks  which  only  a 
wood-fire  knows  how  to  improvise.  He  bent  his 
head  still  lower,  apparently  quite  intent  upon  the 
little  drama  enacting  on  the  hearth.  Presently 
his  lips  moved,  and  ' '  Poor  Ruth  !  "  he  murmured, 
quite  audibly. 

Upon  which,  as  if  recalled  to  himself  by  the 
sound  of  his  own  voice,  he  lifted  his  head  and 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  those  pictured 
countenances  in  which  lurked,  half  hidden,  half 
revealed,  the  tragedy  of  his  life,  which  he  had 
decreed  should  close  the  tragedy  of  his  race.  For 
the  first  time  in  many  years  he  permitted  himself 
to  fold  the  frame  together  and  lay  it  away  from  his 


268 


One  of  the  Pilgrims 


sight.  As  he  did  so,  his  severe,  well  disciplined 
features  betrayed  no  emotion  ;  there  was  only  a 
look,  half  wistful,  half  satirical,  about  his  thin, 
clean-cut  lips  as  he  murmured  :  "  Poor  every- 
body !" 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
FLYNN'S  ROMANCE  BY  ADOPTION. 

HAPPIIyY  for  Flynn's  "  protejay,"  the  num- 
ber of  his  friends  was  not  limited  to  those 
who  possessed  sensibilities  as  keen  and 
perceptions  as  delicate  as  his  own.  If  Harkness 
Dole  found  himself  baffled  by  a  feeling  in  Truxton 
which  he  himself  understood  and  respected,  if 
Will  Shepleigh,  when  he  arrived  a  day  or  two 
later,  was  met  and  vanquished  by  the  same  diffi- 
culty in  his  ardent  attempt  to  set  things  straight, 
it  was  no  more  than  might  well  have  been  antici- 
pated. Assailed  by  an  intolerable  misfortune, 
touched  by  the  breath  of  ill-fame,  the  boy's  whole 
nature  had  stiffened  and  hardened  in  stubborn 
resistance. 

It  was  much  like  the  involuntary  knitting  of 
the  .muscles  against  a  fall,  to  which  ill-advised 
procedure  so  many  a  broken  bone  is  due.  Your 
trained  huntsman  can  ' '  come  a  cropper ' '  unin- 
jured, simply  because  he  has  learned  not  to  brace 
himself  against  it.  But  Frank  Truxton  had  had 
no  experience  in  the  sort  of  tumble  which  means 
269 


270  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

disgrace  and  ruin,  and  he  knew  no  better,  poor 
fellow,  than  to  break  his  bones,  or,  rather,  to 
break  his  heart,  against  his  own  mistaken  heroism. 

Not  only  did  he  reject  the  proffered  aid  of  Dole 
and  Shepleigh  ;  he  resolutely  thrust  from  him  a 
far  more  precious  friendliness.  For  on  Tuesday 
there  came  a  note  from  Ruth,  asking  him  to  come 
and  see  her  at  her  own  house.  She  was  going  on 
into  the  country  the  following  day,  but  she  was 
to  be  in  town  that  afternoon  and  evening,  and  she 
should  count  upon  seeing  him. 

Truxton  wrote  his  answer  almost  without  re- 
flection :  and  indeed  where  was  the  need  of  re- 
flection, now,  when  his  course  of  action  must  be 
governed  by  an  unalterable  resolve  ?  Neither 
did  he  hesitate  as  to  the  form  his  refusal  should 
take.  He  wrote  his  precise  reason,  because  he  felt 
that  nothing  short  of  perfect  sincerity  could  ever 
serve  between  him  and  Ruth. 

He  said  : 

"Mv  DEAR  Miss  WARE: 

"  I  can  not  come  to  see  you  while  things  are  as  they 
are.  It  would  not  be  right,  and  that  is  all  I  have  left  to 
go  by.  By  holding  on  to  that  I  am  going  to  pull  through, 
and  one  of  these  days," — 

(the  little  phrase  was  inexpressibly  consoling  to 
him) — 

"  one  of  these  days,  when  we  are  old  folks,  I  shall  come 
and  tell  you  that  I  was  not  ungrateful. 

"  Yours  faithfully, 

"  FRANK  TRUXTON." 


Flynris  Romance  by  Adoption      271 

The  note  was  written  in  perfect  good  faith,  and 
Truxton  honestly  believed  it  to  be  final.  He  was 
even  conscious  of  a  sense  of  relief,  such  as  a  man 
may  experience  who  has  actually  undergone  the 
dreaded  amputation  of  a  leg  or  an  arm — a  sense 
of  having  now  but  to  adjust  his  life  to  changed 
conditions.  The  changed  conditions  might  prove 
to  be  well-nigh  intolerable,  but  that  was  another 
matter.  Meanwhile  the  process  of  adjustment 
went  on. 

On  Tuesday  morning  there  had  been  a  meeting 
of  the  bank  directors — the  Pilgrim  Fathers,  as 
they  were  irreverently  called — at  which  solemn 
function  Truxton  had  been  invited  to  appear. 
The  occasion  had  been  singularly  lacking  in 
dramatic  point.  The  defaulting  clerk  had  merely 
told  what  he  knew  as  to  the  disaster,  and  stated  his 
willingness  and  ability  eventually  to  reimburse 
the  bank  ;  in  consideration  of  which  extenuating 
circumstance  it  was  voted  to  accept  the  young 
man's  resignation.  So  that,  after  all,  Truxton 
was  technically  correct  when  he  told  his  aunt 
that  he  had  himself  severed  his  connection  with 
the  bank,  and  that  he  proposed  devoting  his  at- 
tention, for  a  time,  at  least,  to  his  tenement-house 
interests.  And,  indeed,  these  proved  sufficiently 
absorbing  for  the  moment. 

The  sale  of  his  own  property  was  entrusted  to 
the  firm  through  whom  he  had  purchased  it,  and 
on  whom  were  not  lost  the  improvements  which 
had  been  accomplished  in  the  interval.  The  head 


272  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

of  the  firm,  one  of  the  strong  real-estate  men  of 
the  city,  had  a  long  talk  with  Truxton,  in  the 
course  of  which  he  warmly  endorsed  the  young 
man's  methods  from  a  business  standpoint.  He 
even  went  so  far  as  to  hint  at  a  possible  co- 
operation between  them,  which  might  prove  pro- 
fitable to  both.  For  Truxton  had  told  him  of  his 
projected  lease  of  the  estate  adjoining  his  own, 
and  of  his  intention  of  developing  a  business  on 
these  lines,  which  gave  him  something  of  the 
status  of  a  colleague  with  the  more  regular  real- 
estate  concerns. 

The  lease  in  question  had  been  drawn  up  during 
his  absence  from  town,  and  was  now  duly  exe- 
cuted ;  and  from  this  undertaking,  together  with 
the  commissions  on  the  Hitchcock  property,  he 
hoped  to  realize  a  sufficient  income  to  keep  the 
wolf  from  the  door.  He  had  a  plan  for  appropri- 
ating as  an  office  a  certain  dark  little  den  on  the 
first  floor  of  the  big  block  which  he  was  leasing. 
It  was  a  dreary  hole,  but  rather  an  advantageous 
foothold  from  which  to  handle  just  that  sort  of 
business. 

Truxton  had  not  taken  this  lease  without  giv- 
ing his  man  a  chance  to  withdraw.  The  other 
party  to  the  transaction,  as  the  Honorable  Bow- 
doin  J.  Wheeler  would  doubtless  have  styled  him- 
self, was  an  elderly  lawyer  of  the  kind  usually 
designated  as  ' '  conservative  but  safe. "  No  ;  he 
had  no  intention  of  withdrawing  from  his  agree- 
ment ;  yes,  he  had  understood  that  Mr.  Truxton 


Flynris  Romance  by  Adoption        273 

was  leaving  the  bank  under  somewhat  embarrass- 
ing circumstances.  He  had  informed  himself  on 
that  head.  One  of  the  directors,  Mr.  Caleb  Ware, 
had  assured  him  that  Mr.  Truxton's  behavior  was 
considered  entirely  creditable  ;  in  fact,  Mr.  Ware 
had  gone  so  far  as  to  express  himself  as  willing  to 
vouch  personally  for  Mr.  Truxton's  integrity,  had 
there  been  any  necessity  for  his  so  doing. 

And  if  this  simple  statement  of  fact  sent  a  dis- 
concerting tide  of  emotion  to  Truxton's  heart  he 
kept  his  head  so  completely  that  the  interview 
merely  confirmed  the  Honorable  Wheeler's  good 
opinion  of  him  as  a  young  man  who  neither 
wasted  words  nor  neglected  details.  In  fact,  as 
afterwards  transpired,  it  struck  the  old  gentleman 
that  a  man  with  a  good  deal  of  trust  property  on 
his  hands  might  make  him  useful  in  behalf  of 
his  clients.  There  was  his  old  friend  Holcomb's 
widow,  for  instance.  He  had  thought  of  advising 
a  change  in  her  investments ;  but  perhaps  she 
could  not  do  better  than  to  retain  that  block  of 
houses  at  the  City  End,  if  this  young  man  would 
consent  to  handle  it. 

But,  as  if  this  process  of  gradual  rehabilitation 
had  been  too  slow  to  suit  the  purposes  of  a  fate 
which  could  not  long  tolerate  the  incongruity  of 
Frank  Truxton  as  the  central  figure  of  a  tragic 
situation,  a  quicker  solution  of  the  difficulty  was 
in  process  than  any  which  could  have  been  antici- 
pated. And  this  solution  was  to  occur  at  the 
hands,  not  of  a  Harkness  Dole,  nor  of  a  Will 


2  74  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

Sliepleigh,  who,  as  we  have  seen,  were  handi- 
capped by  a  sympathetic  understanding  of  just 
such  obstacles  as  the  nature  of  their  would-be 
beneficiary  presented,  but  of  one  who,  knowing 
them  not,  was  incapable  of  finding  them  a 
stumbling-block. 

In  a  neat  tenement  at  the  top  of  that  block 
which  was  in  imminent  danger  of  passing  into 
other  and  less  liberal  hands,  the  face  of  Katie  and 
the  blue-glass  vase  were  an  hourly  admonition,  if 
such  had  been  needed,  to  the  one  friend  of  Trux- 
ton's  who  was  quite  unhampered  by  too  delicate 
sensibilities. 

Barney  Flynn  had  his  own  views  upon  the  bank 
disaster,  and  these  were  so  simple  and  to  the  point 
that  he  found  no  difficulty  in  acting  in  accordance 
with  them.  The  best  friend  he  had  in  the  world 
was  in  trouble  ;  it  was  not  for  Flynn  to  say  how 
he  got  there.  Perhaps  he  lost  the  money  ;  per- 
haps he  "  borried  it  "  first  and  lost  it  afterward. 
Flynn  had  not  been  in  the  employ  of  the  Pilgrim 
Savings  Bank  for  forty  years  without  becoming 
aware  that  it  was  a  very  usual  thing  for  even  the 
rich  and  the  great,  for  millionaires  and  corpora- 
tions to  borrow  of  it,  to  divert  a  portion  of  its 
fabulous  resources  to  their  own  use.  As  to  the 
more  essential  features  of  the  transaction,  he  had 
never  taken  pains  to  inform  himself ;  and,  if  he 
could  not  avoid  the  inference  that  a  loan  of  this 
character  was  usually  made  with  the  knowledge 
and  consent  of  the  bank  authorities,  that  was  a 


Flynris  Romance  by  Adoption        275 

detail  which  he  scorned  to  take  into  considera- 
tion. If  "  Misther  Trooxton  "  had  borrowed  a 
sum  of  money — if  he  had  done  so,  mind  you — 
he  had  doubtless  had  good  and  sufficient  rea- 
sons for  so  doing.  And  Flyun,  sitting  beneath 
the  portrait  of  Katie,  allowed  his  imagination 
to  be  visited  by  another  young  and  charming 
personality. 

The  old  man,  in  his  lonely  eyrie,  had  found  the 
keenest  gratification  in  weaving  a  romance  about 
this  3Toung  fellow  who,  of  all  the  world,  had  suc- 
ceeded in  drawing  near  to  the  modest  little  shrine 
of  Flynn's  own  romance  without  once  offending 
or  affrighting  its  keeper.  Without  laying  aside, 
for  a  moment,  his  armor  of  assumed  indifference 
to  things  of  sentiment,  Flyun  had  secretly  felt  his 
heart  warm  to  the  covert  sympathy  of  one  whose 
perceptions  were  too  delicate  to  confess  them- 
selves. Flynn  would  have  died  sooner  than  admit 
that  he  had  carried  Truxton's  occasional  floral 
offerings  home  to  Katie.  Yet,  jealously  as  he 
guarded  his  own  spiritual  sanctities,  there  was 
scarcely  a  sacrifice  of  material  things  that  he 
would  not  have  made  for  the  sake  of  furthering 
his  "  protejay's  "  interests  in  an  affair  of  a  like 
nature. 

If  "  Misther  Trooxton  "  wanted  the  girl  "  wid 
the  nate  figger  on  her,"  and  who  was  so  com- 
mendably  "  spry  on  her  feet," — why,  he  must 
have  her  !  That  was  the  whole  matter  in  a  nut- 
shell. And  if  the  bank  was  going  to  be  hard  on 


2  76  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

him  it  was  for  him,  Barney  Flynn,  to  see  that  the 
boy  did  not  suffer. 

From  the  first  rumor  of  trouble,  Flynn  had 
been  inclined  to  regard  this  as  his  opportunity. 
If  he  had  fallen  upon  an  unnatural  silence,  if  he 
had  taken  to  reading  the  Morning  Trumpeter  up- 
side down,  it  was  because  he  was  preoccupied 
with  a  plan  by  means  of  which  he  was  intending 
to  save  the  situation.  And  when,  on  Truxton's 
return,  one  glance  at  the  young  man's  face  had 
convinced  him  that  the  case  was  serious,  his  own 
course  had  become  clear. 

It  was  perhaps  fortunate  that  Flynn' s  good-will 
and  self-devotion  were  not  a  mere  matter  of  senti- 
ment, for  that  would  scarcely  have  got  itself  satis- 
factorily expressed.  The  one  attempt  at  verbal 
consolation  which  he  had  made  was  not  so  happily 
chosen  as  to  augur  well  for  its  efficacy  in  the  long 
run.  That  sinister  phrase,  "  whativer  yez  done 
wid  the  money, ' '  might  have  rankled  in  the  mind 
of  anybody  but  Truxton.  To  him,  to  be  sure,  it 
was  peculiarly,  grotesquely  acceptable,  and  for 
the  simple  reason  that  his  sense  of  humor  found 
refreshment  in  it.  Everybody  else  was  changed  ; 
his  whole  easy-going,  amusing  world  of  impres- 
sions was  keyed  to  unnatural  seriousness.  Almost 
every  man  he  knew  was  oppressively  considerate, 
abnormally  kind.  But  would  anybody  ever  again 
take  a  liberty  with  him  ?  Would  anybody  ever 
again  make  light  of  him  ?  Flymi,  at  least,  was 
unchanged  ;  Flynn's  views,  at  least,  would  never 


Flynris  Romance  by  Adoption        277 

be  slavishly  adapted  to  the  conventional  standard. 
Flynn  was  his  friend,  "  whativer  he  done  wid  the 
money  !  " 

Yet  at  how  great  a  cost  to  himself  Flynn  was 
prepared  to  act  the  part  of  friend,  no  one  could 
have  foretold,  for  no  one  guessed  the  extent  of  his 
pecuniary  resources.  That  the  old  man  had  led 
a  frugal  life,  that  he  had  accumulated  a  full  book 
at  the  Pilgrim  almost  before  the  memory  of  man, 
was  well  known.  The  interest  on  his  sixteen 
hundred  dollars  was  drawn  semi-annually,  and  it 
was  understood  that  at  least  two  other  savings  in- 
stitutions were  enriched  with  the  overflow,  to- 
gether with  such  further  sums  as  continued  to 
detach  themselves  from  his  monthly  wages.  In 
fact,  it  was  well  understood  that  Flynn  was  a  cap- 
italist, and  if  his  colleagues  occasionally  indulged 
in  strictures  upon  his  pet  extravagances — in  the 
matter  of  ' '  pin-scarfs, ' '  for  instance — they  never 
felt  any  real  anxiety  as  to  his  solvency  in  the  future. 

Yet  not  one  of  the  pilgrims  was  aware  of  the  full 
extent  of  his  wealth,  nor  that  its  acquisition  dated 
from  that  melancholy  event  of  which  Flynn  had 
spoken  to  Truxton,  the  previous  winter,  with  such 
callous  indifference.  Indeed,  if  the  truth  were 
known,  the  old  man's  attitude  at  the  time  of  his 
brother's  death — that  brother  at  whose  bedside  he 
had  been  present  when  he  was  ' '  haivin'  his  last 
puff !  " — had  been  due  to  a  distorted  sense  of  pro- 
priety in  view  of  the  fact  that  Patrick  had  made 
Barney  his  sole  heir. 


278  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

Patrick  Flynn  had  been  an  ill-natured  old  cur- 
mudgeon of  the  money-getting  variety.  He  had 
survived  three  wives,  apparently  in  deliberate 
pursuance  of  his  openly  expressed  resolve  to 
leave  no  widow,  and  the  untimely  demise  of 
several  children  had  left  him  unembarrassed  by 
the  consideration  of  prospective  orphans.  He 
had  not  been  on  speaking  terms  with  any  of  his 
relatives  except  Barney,  who  had  taken  him  and 
his  idiosyncrasies  in  the  philosophic  spirit  of  in- 
dulgence usual  with  the  pilgrim  sage. 

A  decorous  affliction  might  have  been  antici- 
pated in  Flynn,  had  it  not  been  for  the  shock  of 
finding  himself  the  heir.  Under  the  embarrass- 
ment of  being  thus  singled  out  for  enrichment, 
however,  he  had  deemed  it  proper  to  adopt  a  tone 
of  easy  indifference,  perhaps  with  an  ill-defined 
notion  of  proving  that  his  tears,  or  what  stands 
for  tears  in  an  elderly,  self-contained  mourner, 
were  not  to  be  bought  ! 

Be  that  as  it  may,  when  Flynn  determined  to 
mend  the  fortunes  of  his  best  friend,  it  was  with 
the  inspiring  assurance,  conceded  to  so  few  of  us, 
that  his  resources  were  equal  to  his  good  inten- 
tions. 

Nor  was  his  determination  to  devote  the  bulk 
of  a  handsome  fortune  to  the  uses  of  another 
quite  as  striking  an  exercise  of  heroism  as  would 
appear.  Regrettable  as  the  necessity  is,  of  de- 
tracting from  the  merit  of  a  good  deed,  it  is  only 
proper,  in  the  cause  of  accuracy,  to  admit  that 


Flynris  Romance  by  Adoption        279 

Flynn  had  no  inordinate  estimate  of  the  value  of 
money.  If  he  led  a  frugal  life,  it  was  neither  be- 
cause he  thought  it  his  duty  to  save  money,  nor, 
far  less,  because  of  any  miserly  inclination  to 
hoard.  He  had  been  in  the  habit  of  spending 
what  he  wished;  but  his  desires  had  been  limited. 
When  he  had  purchased  a  gilt  frame  for  Katie's 
picture,  he  had  done  so  regardless  of  expense  ; 
when  he  had  elected  to  wear  a  silk  hat  as  being 
the  covering  best  beseeming  his  years  and  dignity, 
he  had  been  well  aware  that  decorum  was  to  be 
maintained  only  at  the  price  of  a  frequent  and 
considerable  financial  outlay.  If  he  preferred  a 
clay  pipe,  he  at  least  used  the  best  tobacco.  But, 
when  all  was  told,  his  requirements  had  been  very 
small,  and  he  had  simply  placed  in  the  savings- 
bank  a  legitimate  surplus. 

Nor  was  the  approach  of  old  age  a  considera- 
tion to  which  Flynn  gave  much  thought.  He 
cherished  a  comfortable  assurance  that  he  should 
hardly  outlive  his  capacity  for  wetting  "  spinges  " 
and  fetching  ledgers,  and  his  views  upon  mortuary 
expenses  were  very  modest.  Once,  indeed,  when 
he  was  convicted  of  having  contributed  an  un- 
conscionable sum  toward  the  burial  of  a  brother- 
in-law's  mother,  he  had  openly  admitted  that  he 
could  have  "  buried  himsilf  for  half  the  money  !  " 

Hence  it  will  be  seen  that,  in  realizing  upon  a 
parcel  of  bonds  which  had  been  reposing  under 
his  bed  for  months,  in  the  bottom  of  a  box  labelled 
"  SOAP,"  and  in  drawing  out  all  the  money  he 


280  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

possessed  in  savings-banks  other  than  the  Pilgrim, 
he  was  not  performing  an  act  of  superhuman 
heroism.  Furthermore,  from  the  moment  that  he 
learned  that  a  single  bill,  large  though  it  was, 
represented  Truxton's  loss,  his  line  of  action  had 
been  materially  simplified. 

And  so  it  came  about  that  one  afternoon,  two 
or  three  weeks  after  Truxton's  return  from  camp, 
and  the  discovery  of  the  exact  nature  of  his  loss, 
the  transaction  was  complete,  and  Flynn  found 
himself  in  possession  of  a  crisp  new  certificate  for 
ten  thousand  dollars,  which  he  had  purchased  at 
the  Sub-Treasury.  It  was  too  late  in  the  day  for 
him  to  gain  admission  to  the  bank,  and  to  do  so, 
as  shall  presently  transpire,  was  essential  to  the 
execution  of  his  little  scheme. 

When  Flynn  went  to  bed  that  night,  he  did  a 
very  peculiar  thing.  And,  as  a  preliminary,  he 
took  out  the  valuable  bit  of  paper  which  he  had 
come  into  possession  of,  and  examined  it  long  and 
carefully,  wondering,  the  while,  at  the  unpre- 
tentiousness  of  its  superficial  aspect.  This,  in 
itself,  was  not  an  improbable  procedure  on  his 
part,  nor  was  it  strange,  all  things  considered, 
that  he  elected  to  do  so  in  face  of  the  picture  of 
Katie.  He  might  well  have  fancied  that  those 
kindly,  sentimental  eyes  regarded  him  the  more 
affectionately,  the  more  approvingly,  for  the  offer- 
ing he  was  about  to  make  on  the  altar  of  his  little 
romance  by  adoption. 

But  when  the  time  came  for  seeking  a  place  of 


Flynris  Romance  by  Adoption        281 

safety  for  the  money,  his  mind  did  not  once  recur 
to  the  soap-box,  nor  did  he  for  a  moment  enter- 
tain the  very  obvious  expedient  of  hiding  it  under 
his  pillow.  Ignoring  all  such  commonplace  de- 
vices, he  stepped  across  the  room  to  the  old  carpet- 
covered  sofa,  and,  kneeling  upon  it,  he  lifted  from 
the  bracket  the  blue  glass  vase  in  which  a  sprig 
of  mignonette  was  blooming,  and  set  it  carefully 
upon  the  neatly  folded  certificate.  After  which 
little  ceremony,  he  turned  away,  and,  picking  up 
the  lamp,  passed  into  the  adjoining  room,  where 
soon  the  old  man  was  sleeping  the  deep  sleep  of  a 
trustful  child. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


HUMBLE  HOSPITALITIES. 


TO  Truxton's  mind  it  had  long  been  clear 
that  work  and  work  only  was  the  means  to 
most  ends,  but  it  was  only  in  the  days 
following  his  enforced  retirement  from  the  Pilgrim 
Savings  Bank  that  he  learned  its  intrinsic  value 
as  a  mental  and  moral  stimulus. 

He  had  begun  the  week  in  a  condition  of  mind 
which  might  almost  be  called  passive  ;  if  he  had 
braced  himself,  it  had  been  not  so  much  to  action 
as  to  endurance.  Happily,  the  necessity  for 
action  presenting  itself  at  the  very  outset  ren- 
dered endurance  less  difficult,  and  by  the  time 
Saturday  night  came  he  was  almost  too  tired  and 
too  preoccupied  to  know  that  he  was  miserable. 

Business  had  accumulated  rapidly  on  his 
hands  as  the  week  went  on.  Not  only  had  there 
been  the  directors'  meeting,  the  interviews  with 
Wheeler,  and  various  consultations  and  explana- 
tions looking  to  the  sale  of  his  own  block,  but  in- 
numerable small,  practical  details  had  crowded  in 
282 


Hiimblc  Hospitalities  283 

upon  him.  Repairs  were  to  be  pushed,  work- 
people to  be  prodded,  tenants  to  be  conciliated  or 
otherwise  dealt  with.  He  hardly  knew  whether 
he  was  more  desirous  of  making  a  success  of  his 
new  venture,  or  of  handing  over  the  old  in  good 
shape  to  whatever  purchaser  might  be  obliging 
enough  to  present  himself.  He  had  also  set  his 
heart  upon  having  a  full  rent-roll  for  the  delecta- 
tion of  Mrs.  Hitchcock  upon  her  return  to  town 
in  November. 

All  this  detail  he  labored  over  with  a  zest  of 
which  he  did  not  himself  quite  approve.  After 
he  had  gained  some  small  end  for  which  he  had 
wrestled  well,  such  a  sense  of  satisfaction  took 
possession  of  him  that  he  was  quite  abashed  when 
he  became  conscious  of  it.  At  another  moment, 
under  the  exhilaration  of  a  difficulty  conquered, 
he  would  become  singularly  sceptical  as  to  certain 
painful  facts  which  he  had  considered  established 
beyond  perad venture.  His  name,  for  instance; 
was  it  really  in  such  a  bad  way  ?  Just  what  was 
the  blemish  on  it  ?  Did  anybody  imagine  that ? 

Then,  with  a  rush  of  shame,  he  would  re- 
member that  there  was  plenty  of  room  for  such 
imaginings,  that,  at  least,  anybody  might  ! — that, 
indeed,  Mr.  Smith  had, — if  only  for  a  moment. 
That  when  a  man's  name  was  open  to  doubt,  the 
less  said  about  it,  the  less  thought  about  it,  the 
better  ;  and  he  would  throw  himself  upon  his 
weekly  accounts  with  exclusive  attention  ;  or  he 
would  adopt  energetic  measures  for  the  eviction 


284  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

of  one  of  that  class  of  tenants  in  whom  a  notice  to 
quit  arouses  an  insane  desire  to  remain,  and  who, 
by  some  mysterious  provision  of  nature,  are  able 
to  put  forth  a  thousand  small,  clinging  tentacles 
to  meet  the  one  emergency  with  which  they  seem 
fitted  to  cope  withal. 

Yet,  on  the  whole,  between  the  unchastened 
risings  of  a  sanguine  temperament  and  the  severe 
repressions  of  a  youthful  intolerance  of  compro- 
mise, Truxton  managed  to  keep  himself  pretty 
well  in  hand,  and  when,  on  the  morning  of  the 
third  Wednesday,  the  mail  brought  him  an  un- 
looked-for temptation,  he  was  able  to  resist  it 
with  a  fair  degree  of  composure. 

The  temptation  came  in  the  form  of  a  note  from 
young  Caleb  Ware,  already  returned  to  college, 
asking  him  to  go  with  him  into  the  country  for 
the  following  Sunday. 

"  It  will  seem  pretty  slow  at  our  house,  after  camping 
out," 

Caleb  wrote  ; 

"  but  the  leaves  are  bully  this  year." 

Truxton  flung  off  a  hasty  line  of  refusal  and 
got  it  sealed  and  stamped  and  posted  in  a  heat  of 
self-immolation  which  left  him  breathless.  After 
which  he  suffered  a  severe  collapse. 

There  was  no  further  use  in  any  sophistries 
touching  the  true  state  of  things.  If  his  name 


Humble  Hospitalities  285 

had  been  clear  he  should  have  gone  to  see  that 
' '  bully  ' '  foliage.  There  must  be  something  radi- 
cally wrong  about  a  man's  name  if  it  did  not  per- 
mit of  his  doing  a  little  thing  like  that  ! 

By  way  of  consolation  he  called  upon  Mattie 
Tripe  that  afternoon,  ostensibly  to  inquire 
whether  the  cord  in  the  kitchen  window  had  been 
repaired.  He  had  not  seen  Mattie  when  he  called 
for  the  rent  the  previous  week  ;  he  was  always 
sorry  to  miss  her. 

He  found  the  little  woman  patiently  inserting  a 
patch  into  Jimmy's  best  jacket,  humming  softly 
to  herself  the  while.  Things  must  be  going  right 
with  them.  She  jumped  to  her  feet  and  placed  a 
chair  for  him,  wiping  off  the  seat  with  the  skirt 
of  her  dress,  in  imitation  of  her  grown-up  neigh- 
bors ;  and  then,  with  the  instinctive  hospitality 
which  is  characteristic  of  the  very  poor,  she 
brought  him  a  plate,  a  knife,  and  an  apple. 

Truxton  had  learned  never  to  decline  such 
courtesies.  Indeed,  he  was  himself  convinced  that 
he  owed  one  of  his  best  tenants  to  the  fortitude 
with  which  he  had  joined  the  family  at  supper 
and  partaken  largely  of  corned-beef  and  cabbage 
— a  form  of  sustenance  which  he  particularly  de- 
tested. Nor  had  his  gastronomic  experiments 
been  limited  to  such  home-brew  as  this.  Pass- 
over wine  and  unleavened  bread  were  well  known 
to  his  unappreciative  palate,  while  certain  name- 
less concoctions,  highly  seasoned,  but  nondescript, 
and  emanating  from  a  large  black  kettle,  had 


286  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

formed  a  bond  of  union  between  himself  and  more 
than  one  family  of  handsome,  warm-hearted 
Italians. 

As  little  Mattie  approached  him,  bearing  the 
harmless  form  of  nourishment  with  which  she 
had  elected  to  regale  him,  she  lifted  her  solemn 
eyes  to  his,  and  remarked  that  Miss  Ware  had 
sent  them  a  whole  barrelful  of  apples  yesterday. 

"  That  must  have  been  a  pleasant  surprise," 
Truxton  observed,  with  hypocritical  casualness, 
as  he  accepted  the  little  offering. 

"  No,"  the  matter-of-fact  Mattie  replied  ;  "  it 
wa'n't  no  s'prise.  Miss  Ware,  she  'd  promised 
to  send  'em,  'n'  so  she  'd  sent  'em  !  " 

As  Truxton  tasted  the  noble  fruit,  it  struck  him 
that  he  had  never  before  appreciated  its  quality, 
and  his  mind  reverted,  with  a  curious  relenting, 
to  that  moment  of  weakness  in  our  common 
ancestor  which  is  supposed  to  have  been  fraught 
with  such  disastrous  consequences  to  us  all. 
Doubtless,  he  thought  to  himself,  if  Adam  had 
refused  the  apple,  that  gold  certificate  would 
never  have  got  lost  ;  yet,  what  an  excellent  fruit 
it  was,  and  how  like  Ruth  to  send  it  up  ! 

"  Good!  Ain't  it  ?  "  Mattie  remarked,  pleased 
with  the  evident  relish  with  which  her  guest  was 
consuming  her  offering. 

"  Best  apple  I  ever  tasted,"  Truxton  affirmed, 
with  spontaneous  enthusiasm.  "  I  say,  Mattie, 
have  you  seen  Miss  Ware  since  that  time  she  was 
here  last  June  ?  ' ' 


Humble  Hospitalities  287 

"  Yes  ;  she  was  in  the  other  day,  'n'  she  said  it 
was  her  birthday,  'n'  she  wanted  me  to  give  her 
a  birthday  wish." 

"  And  what  did  you  wish  her,  Mattie  ?  " 

Truxton  had  set  the  plate  aside,  and  was  hold- 
ing the  child's  two  hands,  looking  into  those  un- 
fathomable eyes  set  in  the  little  pinched,  earnest 
face. 

"  I  wished  her, — 

"  Somethin'  to  have, 
Somethin'  to  give, 
Somethin'  to  love, 
An'  a  reason  to  live  !  " 

The  child  had  got  her  hands  away  from  Trux- 
ton, as  she  spoke,  and  had  folded  them  together  so 
tight,  in  her  little,  intense  way,  that  white  spots 
came  out  under  the  pressure  of  the  fingers. 

' '  Who  taught  you  that,  Mattie  ?  ' '  and  Truxton 
drew  the  little  creature  nearer. 

"  Ma  learned  it  me,  and  she  promised  it  would 
come  true.  Ma  was  pious.  But,  say  ! — I  did  n't 
know  folks  had  birthdays  when  they  got  so  old 
as  that  !  I  ain't  had  one  since  Ma  died,"  and 
the  child  twisted  herself  a  little,  within  the  curve 
of  Truxton' s  arm,  that  she  might  look  into  his 
face. 

"  Did  you  tell  Miss  Ware  she  was  too  old  to 
have  a  birthday  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  'n'  she  said  next  time  I  saen  you  I  must 
tell  you." 


288  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

"Tell  me  what?" 

"  Tell  you  how  I  'd  called  her  old.  She  said 
you  'd  understand,  'cause  she  said  you  'd  prom- 
ised her  something  nice  when  she  was  old.  An' 
she  must  be  real  old,  "cause  she  was  grown  up 
before,  you  know,  'n'  now  she  's  had  a  birthday. 
Shall  you  keep  your  promise  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  Mattie.  No  one  would  break  a 
promise  to  Miss  Ware." 

"  Course  not." 

Then  Mattie  put  up  her  little  claw  of  a  hand 
and  took  hold  of  the  lapel  of  her  visitor's  coat. 

"  Say,"  she  asked  ;  "  is  it  a  present  ?  " 

"  No,  Mattie.  I  don't  know  of  anything  Miss 
Ware  wants  ;  do  you  ?  ' ' 

."  Not  ezzackly.  No  ;  I  guess  'tain't  presents 
she  wants. ' ' 

"  Then  you  think  there  's  something  she  wants 
that  she  has  n't  got  ?  " 

"  I  guess  so  ;  'cause  when  I  said  my  wish  she 
said  that  was  the  nicest  wish  she  'd  ever  had,  'n' 
she  hoped  it  would  come  true." 

"  Say  the  wish  again,  Mattie." 

And  again  the  little  hands  were  joined  tight 
together,  and  the  solemn  eyes  looked  straight 
ahead,  as  the  child  repeated  the  lines  : 


Somethin'  to  have, 
Somethin'  to  give, 
Somethin'  to  love, 
An'  a  reason  to  live  ! 


Humble  Hospitalities  289 

Then  Truxton  repeated  the  words  after  her, 
and,  drawing  the  child  close  again,  he  kissed  her 
gently  on  the  forehead,  just  as  Flynn  had  seen 
Ruth  do  one  day  so  long  ago. 

"  And  that  's  my  wish  for  you,  Mattie  ! "  he 
said,  as  he  stood  up  to  go. 

"  You  need  n't  wish  "em,"  she  replied,  in  her 
own  matter-of-fact  tone,  as  she  absently  brushed 
her  hand  across  the  place  his  lips  had  touched. 
"  I  've  got  'em  all,  just  like  Ma  promised."  And 
already  she  had  laid  her  hand  on  Jimmy's  jacket 
with  the  evident  intention  of  making  up  for  lost 
time. 

Five  minutes  later,  when  Truxton  looked  in 
again  to  inquire  about  the  window-cord,  which 
had  entirely  escaped  his  mind,  he  found  the  child 
bent  over  her  work,  and  sweetening  her  labors 
with  the  remains  of  the  apple  which  he  had  not 
quite  finished. 

Yes  ;  little  Mattie  had  "  got  'em  all  !  "  Ruth 
was  right  when  she  said  of  their  own  kind,  that 
life  was  more  difficult  to  them,  that  there  was 
even  more  suffering  in  it  for  them,  and  a  great 
deal  more  effort.  Well,  it  was  the  effort  that 
made  the  suffering  tolerable.  It  was  lucky  for 
him— and  for  Harkness  Dole,  he  added,  paren- 
thetically, with  a  poignant  recollection  of  Dole's 
strenuous  face  as  he  had  passed  his  hand  absently 
along  the  edge  of  that  stamped-leather  frame — it 
was  well  for  them  that  they  had  their  hands  full. 

And  Ruth  ?      Did  Ruth  really  care  ?      If  he 


290  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

were  to  be  suddenly  reinstated  in  all  he  had 
lost,  just  a  commonplace  bank-clerk,  with  the 
glamour  of  misfortune  gone,  would  Ruth  find  it 
in  her  heart  to  send  him  messages  ?  He  had  his 
doubts.  He  was  almost  glad  not  to  put  her  to 
that  test  ;  or,  at  least,  he  told  himself  that  he 
was  !  Better  to  be  sure  of  her  compassion,  if  that 
was  the  warmest  feeling  that  he  was  entitled  to 
at  her  hands. 

Yet,  somehow,  the  lilac-bushes,  as  he  walked 
up  the  home  path,  did  not  look  quite  so  dusty  and 
dingy  as  they  had  done  ten  days  ago.  He  re- 
flected that  there  had  been  a  smart  rain  the  night 
before,  which  must  have  freshened  them  up. 

And  again  in  deference  to  Miss  Vickery's  day 
he  lifted  the  brass  knocker  and  set  its  echoes 
thundering  through  the  halls.  The  brass  dragon, 
at  least,  was  in  a  good  state  of  preservation  ;  it 
was  fairly  likely  to  outlive  the  house,  to  outlive 
the  occupants  of  the  house. 

Miss  Vickery  herself  was  looking  her  brightest 
and  best,  as  was  her  wont  of  a  Wednesday.  And 
if  this  chronicle  has  not  intruded  upon  her  on  any 
other  day  of  the  week  than  Wednesday,  it  has 
certainly  evinced  a  discretion  not  other  than 
commendable.  For,  surely,  if  our  expressed 
preferences  are  not  to  be  honored  when  we  have 
attained  the  dignity  of  seventy- eight  years,  we 
might  well  question  the  advantage  of  living  so 
long. 

As  Truxton  appeared  before  her,  hat  in  hand, 


Humble  Hospitalities  291 

Miss  Vickery  welcomed  him  with  her  choicest 
Wednesday  dignity. 

"  You  are  my  second  visitor,"  she  remarked, 
with  an  evident  humorous  intention.  "  That  is 
really  more  than  I  could  have  anticipated  at  this 
season  of  the  year,  when  so  few  of  my  acquaint- 
ances have  returned  to  town." 

' '  And  who  was  the  other  one  ?  ' '  Truxton  in- 
quired, as  he  took  a  seat  near  the  little  table  and, 
picking  up  the  cut-glass  bottle  of  lavender  water, 
indulged  himself  with  a  whiff  of  its  agreeable 
perfume. 

"  I  am  obliged  to  confess  that  the  first  visit 
was  in  honor  of  the  man  of  the  house,"  she  re- 
plied. "  The  gentleman  did  not  give  his  name, 
but  I  fancy  he  may  have  been  your  tailor." 

"My  tailor?  Why,  that  's  a  luxury  I  can 
hardly  be  said  to  possess,  Aunt  Lucretia." 

"  At  least  he  brought  with  him  a  coat,"  the  old 
lady  explained,  "  which  he  said  belonged  to  you, 
and  which  he  was  anxious  to  deliver  into  your 
hands.  I  judged  that  he  wished  to  try  it  on. 
Bridget,"  she  continued,  "  was  quite  deceived  in 
him  at  first  and  showed  him  into  the  parlor.  He 
was  dressed  like  a  gentleman,  and  persons  of 
Bridget's  class  are  not  sufficiently  discriminating 
to  look  below  the  surface.  They  do  not  appreciate 
that  the  rest  '  is  all  but  leather  and  prunella  ' !  " 

"  Some  mistake,"  Truxton  declared.  "  I 
have  n't  been  ordering  any  coat.  The  man  must 
have  got  the  name  wrong. ' ' 


292  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

' '  He  said  it  was  for  Mr.  Truxton  of  the  Pil- 
grim Savings  Bank.  I  ventured  to  state  that 
you  had  severed  your  connection  with  that  insti- 
tution, but  he  made  a  most  remarkable  grimace, 
and  said  that  the  bank  would  hardly  be  such  a 
fool  as  to  let  you  go,  for  that  you  were,  I  think 
he  said,  '  about  the  best  man  of  the  gang! '  His 
language  was  very  singular,  and  I  did  not  alto- 
gether like  his  use  of  the  word  '  gang.'  Yet  his 
manner  was  inoffensive.  I  concluded  that  he 
must  be  of  foreign  extraction.  The  country  is 
getting  quite  overrun  with  foreigners,"  Miss 
Vickery  added,  with  that  complacent  fluency 
which  an  elderly  person  falls  into  when  enunciat- 
ing a  familiar  sentiment.  "  One  often  wonders 
what  we  are  coming  to." 

"  I  know  that  some  persons  feel  that  way, 
Aunt  Lucretia,  but  there  are  a  good  many  of  the 
old  stock  left,  and  I  rather  guess  we  shall  hold 
our  own. ' ' 

He  had  restored  the  cut-glass  bottle  to  its  place, 
and  transferred  his  attention  to  the  feather  fan. 

"  Did  the  tailor-man  have  anything  more  to 
say  ?  "  he  asked,  opening  and  shutting  the  fan — 
a  liberty  which  he  would  scarcely  have  permitted 
himself  except  under  stress  of  anxiety.  There 
could  not  be  much  doubt  as  to  the  identity  of  a 
visitor  who  looked  like  a  gentleman  and  talked 
like  a  person  of  foreign  extraction  ! 

"  He  only  said  that  he  should  come  again  this 
evening,"  Miss  Vickery  replied,  eying  the  fan  in 


Humble  Hospitalities  293 

so  pointed  a  manner  that  Truxton  hastily  replaced 
it.  Then,  with  interest  restored  to  the  subject  in 
hand,  she  added  :  "  He  made  some  observation 
about  procrastination  being  a  thief  at  times,  which 
sounded  like  a  reminiscence  of  the  old  proverb. 
Altogether  the  man  seemed  an  unusual  and  some- 
what perplexing  personality.  Perhaps  he  was  a 
tenant.  I  hope,  Frank,  that  you  see  no  reason 
to  regret  your  change  of  plan,"  and  the  old  lady 
looked  at  him  through  her  gold-rimmed  spectacles 
in  a  searching  manner  which  was  rather  discon- 
certing to  her  nephew. 

"  No,  Aunt  Lucretia,  I  still  think  it  was  a  wise 
step." 

The  subject  was  one  to  which  he  never  volun- 
tarily alluded.  It  always  gave  him  an  uncom- 
fortable feeling  of  self-consciousness,  a  sense*  of 
double-dealing,  which  he  hated.  But  he  went  on 
to  say,  with  a  fair  show  of  spontaneity  :  "  I  am 
hoping  to  develop  this  tenement-house  business 
into  something  realty  satisfactory.  I  don't  forget 
your  warning  about  being  too  sanguine,  but — it 
is  a  kind  of  work  I  seem  adapted  to. ' ' 

' '  It  must  have  been  a  matter  of  much  regret  to 
the  bank  authorities,"  the  old  lady  persisted,  in 
a  tone  of  gratified  pride  which  betrayed  the  hol- 
lowness  of  her  concern  for  the  Pilgrim  Fathers. 
"  Mr.  Ware,  the  son  of  your  great-uncle  John's 
classmate,  Judge  Ware,  spoke  extremely  well  of 
you  when  he  was  so  kind  as  to  call  upon  me 
during  your  absence.  I  was  much  impressed  by 


294  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

his  anxiety  to  obtain  your  address.  I  could  only 
suppose  that  they  wished  to  consult  you  about 
some  matter  of  importance. ' ' 

"  There  was  a  little  matter  that  turned  up 
while  I  was  away,"  Frank  admitted,  though  the 
deception  went  much  against  the  grain,  "  that  I 
happened  to  know  more  about  than  the  other 
men." 

"  I  almost  wonder,"  Miss  Vickery  mused,  "  I 
almost  wonder  that,  under  the  circumstances,  you 
were  willing  to  leave  them  on  such  short  notice. 
It  must  have  been  a  serious  disappointment  to 
them. ' ' 

"  Why,  in  a  way,  I  suppose  they  were  sorry. 
They  have  certainly  been  very  kind  about  it. 
But  there  are  always  plenty  of  applicants  for  a 
comfortable  berth  like  that,  and  I  imagine  there 
won't  be  any  difficulty  about  filling  my  place." 

"  That  may  be,"  Miss  Vickery  replied,  only 
half  convinced ;  ' '  but  I  doubt  very  much  whether 
they  find  another  man  of  your  ability  and  stand- 
ing. Neither  the  Vickerys  nor  the  Truxtons 
have  been  in  the  habit  of  filling  salaried  positions 
of  that  nature,"  she  continued,  warming  to  her 
subject,  "  and  I  imagine,  Frank,  that  in  work 
of  that  kind,  as  well  as  in  the  higher  walks  of  life, 
blood  will  tell:'1 

Truxton  felt  a  creeping  sensation  of  heat  suffuse 
itself  over  face  and  neck. 

:i  We  must  n't  get  conceited,  Aunt  L,ucretia," 
he  replied,  with  a  forced  laugh.  "  The  men  at 


Humble  Hospitalities 


295 


the  Pilgrim  are  all  of  good  Yankee  stock,  and 
there  are  plenty  more  where  they  came  from. ' ' 

He  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  at  that  moment  the 
click  of  the  gate  was  heard  at  the  end  of  the  lilac 
walk. 

"  Hullo  !  That 's  Flynn,  our  old  janitor  !  "  he 
exclaimed,  as  he  peered  out  into  the  gathering 
dusk.  ' '  Shall  we  have  Bridget  show  him  into 
the  library,  and  light  up  ?  "  . 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  TAI,E  OF  AN  OI,D  COAT. 

THE  library  was  a  square  front  room,  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  hall  from  the  long 
parlor.      Its  walls  were  lined  with  well- 
stocked  book-shelves  which  had  the  appearance 
of  being  but  rarely  disturbed,  while  from  the  dim 
old  volumes  arose  that  delicately  pervasive  odor, 
so  dear  to  the  nostrils  of  the  book-lover. 

Truxton  found  Flynn  standing  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  regarding,  with  much  interest,  a 
bust  of  Socrates  which  showed  white  amid  its 
shadowy  surroundings.  The  light  from  the 
chandelier  shone  full  upon  the  head  of  the  latter- 
day  sage,  and  brought  out  a  curious  resemblance 
to  the  deeply  wrinkled  physiognomy  of  the  bust. 

As  Truxton  entered,  Flynn  turned,  and,  indi- 
cating with  an  easy  gesture  his  distinguished 
prototype,  he  remarked,  "  Your  honorable  grand- 
father, I  suppose?"  The  undulatory  inflection 
of  the  last  open  o  conveyed  such  a  world  of  wis- 
dom and  penetration  that  Truxton  had  not  the 
heart  to  contradict  him. 

296 


The  Tale  of  an  Old  Coat          297 

"  Do  you  think  I  favor  him,  Flynn  ?  "  he  asked, 
at  the  same  time  pulling  forward  the  great  leathern 
arm-chair  which  had  been  the  property  of  his 
veritable  grandfather,  and  motioning  the  old  man 
to  take  a  seat. 

1 '  Favor  him,  is  it  ?  "  Flynn  replied,  wresting 
its  subtle  meaning  from  the  unfamiliar  phrase, 
and  giving,  the  while,  deliberate  consideration  to 
the  youthful,  clean-cut  countenance  before  him, 
the  lines  of  which  were  not  those  of  abstruse 
speculation.  "  I  'm  thinkin'  ye  're  full  young 
to  favor  your  grandfather  ! ' ' 

Then,  ignoring  the  proffered  chair,  and  with  a 
sudden  change  from  the  judicial  tone  to  one  the 
suppressed  excitement  of  which  did  not  escape 
Truxton's  notice,  he  said,  taking  the  linen  coat 
from  his  arm  and  laying  it  with  great  circum- 
spection upon  the  table  :  "  That  's  the  coat  yez 
was  afther  wearin'  the  day  yez  was  last  at  the 
counter ! ' ' 

"  Thanks,  Flynn,"  said  Truxton,  picking  up 
the  coat,  and  tossing  it  over  the  back  of  a  chair. 
' '  You  were  very  good  to  bring  that  'way  out  here. 
I  am  afraid  I  should  have  forgotten  all  about  it 
until  the  hot  weather  piped  up  again.  And  now 
sit  down  and  have  a  glass  of  grog.  I  've  got  my 
grandfather's  receipt  for  it — not  that  grand- 
father's,"— with  a  glance  at  the  ancient  bust, — 
"  but  another  one's,"  and  Truxton  stepped  to 
one  of  the  bookcases,  beneath  which  was  a  cup- 
board where  he  knew  that  the  jovial  traditions  of 


298  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

another  generation  were  piously  embalmed  in 
spirits. 

"  Naw,  sorr,  an'  I  thank  ye,  sorr  !  "  Flynn 
protested — and  then  Truxton  was  positive  that 
it  was  no  light  errand  that  had  brought  this  un- 
accustomed visitor  to  his  door. 

Flynn,  meanwhile,  had  confided  his  slight  form, 
in  a  half-distrustful  way,  to  the  recesses  of  the  big 
chair,  within  which  he  looked  very  small  and  ill 
at  ease.  "  It 's  not  a  minute  I  '11  be  afther  kapin' 
3rez,  sorr,"  he  declared  ;  "  it 's  only  the  coat  I  was 
afther  bringin'  back." 

"  Yes,  but  you  '11  sit  a  while,  Flynn,  and  tell 
me  how  things  are  going  at  the  bank.  Have  they 
got  the  new  light-shades  yet  ?  and — have  they 
taken  on  anybody  new  ?  ' ' 

"  Well,  sorr,  there  's  a  tall,  lofty  young  feller, 
wid  a  queer  name  to  him  altogither.  Iverett 
James — that  's  him — wid  his  name  turned  wrong 
side  before,  same  as  the  ladies'  bonnets  the  day ! 
An'  me  an'  Misther  Stone  thinks  that  yoursilf  for- 
gets more  over  night  than  the  new  feller  '11  ever 
know.  Misther  Trooxton,"  he  continued,  with 
a  profoundly  insinuating  leer, — "  Misther  Troox- 
ton, yez  might  cast  an  eye  into  the  pockets  of  the 
coat  there.  If  yez  was  afther  puttin"  annything 
into  it,  ye  'd  belike  have  forgotten  it  in  all  the 
long  time  !  " 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  increasing  excite- 
ment of  the  old  man's  manner.  He  was  now  sit- 
ting on  the  extreme  edge  of  the  chair,  leaning 


The  Tale  of  an  Old  Coat          299 

forward,  the  Socratic  countenance  gathering  itself 
into  a  curious  snarl  of  wrinkles,  the  small  eyes 
twinkling  sharply  in  the  light  of  the  gas-jets. 
Truxton  felt  himself  strangely  under  compulsion 
as  he  stepped  across  the  room  and  picked  up  the 
linen  coat. 

Beginning  with  an  outside  pocket,  he  pulled 
out  a  handkerchief,  and  with  it  came  a  bill,  stuck 
fast  together  into  a  bunch.  He  picked  up  the 
bill,  while  Flynn  eyed  him  excitedly. 

"Why,  what  's  this?"  Truxton  exclaimed; 
"  I  never  carry  money  in  this  pocket.  Flynn, 
what  does  this  mean  ?  " 

"  Sure,  your  honor  '11  have  put  a  dollar  bill 
in  by  mistake  wid  your  handkerchief.  If  it 
was  anny thing  vallible  it  wad  be  in  the  inside 
pocket  ! ' ' 

Truxton,  meanwhile,  was  endeavoring  to  un- 
fold the  bill,  which  adhered  closely  to  some  central 
object.  At  last  it  yielded  its  hold  upon  what 
proved  to  be  a  wad  of  chewing-gum,  and,  spread- 
ing the  note  out  flat,  Truxton  read  the  denomina- 
tion which  he  had  already  identified.  The  blood 
seemed  to  rush  backward  to  his  heart  in  an  over- 
whelming surge.  He  leaned  heavily  against  the 
table-  his  hand  spread  out  upon  the  bill.  When 
he  spoke,  his  voice  sounded  to  his  own  ears  hollow 
and  far  away. 

"  Flynn,"  he  said,  sternly,  "  what  do  you 
know  of  this  ?  " 

And  Flynn  rose  to  his  feet,  with  a  scared  and 


30O  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

guilty  look,  and,  coming  close  up  to  the  table, 
gazed  through  his  spectacles  at  the  bill,  while 
gradually  his  face  fell  to  an  expression  of  abject 
dismay. 

' '  Nothing,  sorr  ;  nothing  at  all, ' '  he  pro- 
tested ;  but  there  was  nothing  of  the  jaunty 
disclaimer  with  which  he  had  once  denied  all 
knowledge  of  the  tomato-soup,  as  it  trickled  in 
gory  evidence  from  his  tin  pail. 

"  Did  you  put  that  money  in  that  pocket  ?  "  his 
inquisitor  demanded. 

"  Me  !  "  and  with  a  sudden  jerk  the  old  man 
recovered  his  equilibrium,  and  was  able  to  enun- 
ciate, with  scathing  emphasis  :  "  Me  !  An'  is  it 
me  that  would  be  afther  chewin*  gum  f  ' ' 

' '  Great  Scott  ! ' '  Truxton  cried  ;  and  he  sank 
into  a  chair  under  an  overpowering  conviction. 
"  Flynn,  where  's  Tim  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Tim,  is  it  ?  Tim  ?  He  's  to  the  hospital  wid 
a  broken  arm  ;  he  is  that  !" 

"  How  long  has  he  been  there  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  know  that?  Wan,  two,  three 
weeks,  maybe." 

Truxton  was  quite  calm  now.  He  had  simply 
waked  from  a  long  nightmare.  If  the  nightmare 
has  been  a  very  bad  one,  the  blood  goes  a  bit 
faster  for  it  ;  that  is  all. 

"  Now,  Flynn,"  he  said,  very  quietly,  "  if 
you  knew  nothing  about  that  money,  what  was 
the  reason  you  were  so  everlastingly  careful  about 
that  coat,  and  so  particular  about  my  looking 


The  Tale  of  an  Old  Coat          301 

through  the  pockets  ?  There  was  some  reason, 
and  you  may  as  well  own  up." 

Then  the  full  dignity  of  the  pilgrim  sage  as- 
serted itself.  He  rose  to  his  feet,  and,  throwing 
his  shoulders  back,  with  a  gesture  peculiar  to  him 
in  his  more  exalted  moods,  he  said:  "  Sure,  sorr, 
if  it  was  mesilf,  I  'd  not  be  afther  lookin'  for  anny- 
thing  valliable  in  the  outside  pocket  av  a  coat  !  " 

There  was  something  so  impressive,  so  signifi- 
cant, in  this,  that  Truxton  found  himself  again 
under  a  strong  compulsion  to  defer  action,  to  de- 
fer thought,  to  defer  the  very  emotion  of  deliver- 
ance, until  he  should  have  followed  the  unspoken 
behests  of  the  old  man's  tone  and  manner. 

' '  I  don't  suppose  there  's  another  ten-thousand- 
dollar  gold  certificate  in  the  inside  pocket,"  he 
remarked,  as  he  turned  the  coat  inside  out,  with 
a  view  to  further  investigation.  And,  lo  !  as  he 
inserted  his  hand  within  the  breast-pocket,  his 
fingers  closed  upon  a  crisp  piece  of  paper,  of  un- 
mistakable texture  and  consistency. 

A  curious,  creeping  sensation  came  over  him  ; 
he  felt  himself  played  upon  by  some  insidious, 
abnormal  agency.  He  did  not  at  once  pull  out 
the  money. 

And  Flynn,  seeing  his  hesitancy,  observing 
his  change  of  countenance,  seemed  himself  to 
undergo  a  reaction  of  feeling,  which  resulted  in 
a  sudden  collapse  into  the  embrace  of  the  leathern 
chair. 

Then  Truxton  drew  forth  the  crisp,  clean  bill 


3O2  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

that  had  spent  the  night  under  the  blue  glass 
vase.  He  scarcely  needed  to  glance  at  the  super- 
scription, nor  did  he  do  more  than  glance  at  the 
old  man's  face,  working  visibly  with  conflicting 
emotions.  Instead,  he  stepped  to  the  bell-rope 
and,  pulling  it  violently,  he  listened  to  an  answer- 
ing tintinnabulation  in  the  remote  kitchen. 

"  Bridget,"  he  said,  as  that  functionary  arrived, 
quite  breathless  with  curiosity,  "  bring  me  a 
pitcher  of  hot  water,  some  glasses,  a  dessert- 
spoon, a  lemon,  and  a  knife,  and, — Bridget  ! — 
bring  me  the  sugar-bowl  !  " 

"  Now,  Flynn,"  Truxton  continued,  repairing 
definitively  to  the  bookcase  cupboard,  to  which  a 
sure  instinct  had  guided  him  at  the  beginning  of 
the  interview  ;  "  Now,  Flynn,  you  shall  try  my 
grandfather's  receipt — unless  you  have  a  better 
one  of  your  own." 

Then  Flynn,  pulling  himself  together,  and 
accepting,  with  evident  relief,  the  change  of  sub- 
ject, said  :  "  Well,  sorr,  if  it  's  a  glass  of  grog  it 
is, — what  do  you  say  to  lavin'  the  limonade  be  ?  " 

"  What  !     You  'd  rather  have  it  straight  ?  ' ' 

"  Well,  sorr,  it  's  not  aisy  to  betther  a  good 
thing  !  " 

And  straight  it  was,  and  straight  to  the  spot  it 
went,  if  one  might  judge  by  the  way  the  old 
man's  small  eyes  gleamed  as  he  took  it.  Or,  was 
it  not,  after  all,  quite  "  straight "  ?  Did  it  per- 
haps not  lack  an  admixture  of  warmth  and  of 
sweetness,  and  a  pleasing  tartness  ? 


The  Tale  of  an  Old  Coat          303 

For,  just  as  the  two  men  lifted  their  glasses  to 
their  lips,  Truxton  paused  to  say,  with  a  gather- 
ing emotion  in  his  voice  :  "  Flynn,  you  are  an 
irrational  old  humbug,  but — here  's  to  the  best 
friend  a  man  ever  had — God  bless  him  !  ' ' 

It  was  a  long  draught,  and  a  strong  draught, 
and  a  draught  both  together,  and  it  was  calcu- 
lated to  infuse  new  courage  into  both  actors  in 
this  somewhat  embarrassing  situation.  Yet  there 
is  no  denying  that  Flynn,  in  spite  of  the  rousing 
toast,  in  spite  of  the  excellence  of  the  liquor,  was 
distinctly  crestfallen  at  the  simple  and  unlooked- 
for  solution  of  his  "  protejay's"  perplexities. 

The  toast,  to  be  sure,  had  been  a  singularly 
happy  and  acceptable  one.  Far  from  taking  um- 
brage at  the  preliminar}'  clause,  the  old  man  found 
it  peculiarly  grateful  to  his  feelings.  The  term 
"  irrational  old  humbug,"  though  not  in  itself 
flattering,  had  a  reassuringly  familiar  sound  to 
his  ears,  and  relieved  the  peroration  of  undue  and 
embarrassing  solemnity.  Just  what ' '  an  irrational 
old  humbug  "  might  signify  was  a  question  hardly 
worth  speculating  upon,  but  the  tone  of  affection- 
ate raillery  was  in  itself  entirely  satisfactory. 

The  cause  of  the  old  man's  discomfiture  was 
twofold.  In  the  first  place  he  felt  that  Tim,  the 
"  unhatherly  young  spalpeen!"  had  distinctly 
got  the  better  of  him.  He,  Barney  Flynn,  had 
been  thwarted  in  his  dearest  ambition  by  a  dis- 
reputable, irresponsible  little  upstart.  And  this 
brings  us  to  the  real  grievance. 


304  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

For  Flynn,  in  his  grotesque,  inarticulate  fashion, 
really  loved  Truxton,  and  never,  since  little  Katie 
died,  had  any  aspiration  been  as  real,  as  tangible 
to  him,  as  this  of  playing  the  part  of  benignant 
Providence  in  that  little  affair  which  he  had 
elected  to  adopt  as  the  romance  of  his  old  age. 
If  his  castle  in  the  air  was  built  of  the  flimsiest, 
the  most  improbable  materials,  it  was  at  least 
reared  upon  a  basis  of  faith  and  affection,  and  its 
architect  believed  in  it  with  all  his  heart. 

Whether  Flynn  had  really  expected  to  deceive 
Truxton,  is  a  question  which  he  himself  could 
not  have  answered.  We  all  know  the  poignant 
appeal  to  the  imagination  exercised  by  a  garment 
once  worn  by  a  departed  friend,  whether  departed 
to  a  better  world  or  to  a  remoter  region  of  this 
questionably  satisfactory  one.  And,  as  Flynn 
pondered,  day  by  day,  the  best  way  of  insinuating 
his  gift  into  the  acceptance  of  a  beneficiary  of 
whose  willingness  to  take  it  he  entertained  grave 
doubts,  he  could  think  of  no  more  plausible  device 
than  that  of  creating  the  fiction  of  the  money 
having  been,  in  this  preposterous  manner,  ' '  mis- 
laid"— as  he  would  have  expressed  it,  with  a 
very  broad  and  ravelled-out  emphasis  on  the  last 
syllable. 

Furthermore,  if  he  had  had  his  misgivings  as 
to  really  deceiving  Truxton,  he  perhaps  enter- 
tained a  sneaking  hope  that  his  "  protejay " 
might  pretend  to  be  deceived!  He  was  sure,  at 
least,  that  he,  Barney  Flynn,  would  have  made 


The  Tale  of  an  Old  Coat         305 

such  a  trifling  concession  as  that  for  the  sake  of 
Katie. 

Now,  however,  thanks  to  the  aforesaid  ' '  young 
spalpeen,"  Flynn  saw  himself  left  quite  at  one 
side,  his  elaborate  and  careful  scheme  in  danger 
of  being  shelved  entirely,  himself  of  being  treated 
as  a  side  issue.  And,  although  he  drained  his 
glass  of  excellent  liquor  with  becoming  spirit,  and 
although  he  accepted,  graciously,  the  handsome 
tribute  of  the  toast,  his  chagrin  was  profound. 

Truxton,  on  his  part,  was  as  prompt  to  perceive 
the  old  man's  discomfiture  as  he  had  been  quick 
to  take  in  the  bald  facts  of  the  situation.  And 
scarcely  had  he  drained  his  glass — the  contents 
of  which  he  had  taken  the  precaution  to  weaken 
largely,  being  himself  unhabituated  to  such 
powerful  potations — than  he  was  visited  by  one 
of  those  inspirations  which  have  their  source  in 
something  deeper  and  finer  than  mere  quickness 
of  wit.  As  he  set  his  glass  upon  the  table  he 
said,  in  a  tone  of  conviction:  "  Flynn,  I  had  no 
idea  you  were  such  a  capitalist !  If  I  had  known 
that,  there  's  nobody  I  should  have  sooner  asked 
to  help  me  out  of  this  scrape  ! ' ' 

"  An'  a  proud  day  it  wad  ha'  been  for  mesilf, 
your  honor  !  "  Flynn  replied,  with  a  gleam  of  re- 
turning animation  ;  "  a  grand  day  indade  !  " 

And  Truxton,  fearing  that  his  statement  was 
too  preposterous  for  credence,  made  haste  to  add  : 
"  Of  course  I  should  have  given  you  proper 
securities.  The  fact  is,  Flynn,  I  am  something 


306  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

of  a  capitalist  myself.  It  is  really  I  that  own 
that  block  you  live  in.  I  did  n't  want  to  brag, 
so  I  only  told  you  that  I  had  charge  of  it. ' ' 

The  old  familiar  look  of  unfathomable  wisdom 
diffused  itself  over  the  Socratic  countenance,  and, 
with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  Flynn  remarked, 
"  An'  did  yez  suppose  I  did  n't  know  that  ?  " 

Then,  leaning  forward,  and  gazing  up  at  Trux- 
ton  with  the  most  ingratiating  leer,  he  added  : 
"  Sure,  sorr,  there  's  other  tinimints  as  wad  be 
betther  for  a  taste  of  dacency  and  Christianity, 
an'  if  a  bit  o'  money  like  that — "  a  change  in 
Truxton's  countenance  turned  the  tenor  of  his 
argument,  and  he  finished,  rather  lamely:  "  It  's 
a  good  invistmint  I  'd  be  glad  to  get  !  " 

"  There  are  lots  of  good  investments,  Flynn," 
Truxton  replied,  hastily.  "  You  had  better  talk 
with  Mr.  Smith  about  it." 

"  Wid  Misther  Smith?"  and  the  old  man's 
voice  was  overspread  with  cold  disgust.  "  Wid 
Misther  Smith  ?  An'  what  for  should  I  be  afther 
talkin'  wid  Misther  Smith  ?  " 

"  Well,  only  that  he  has  had  a  good  deal  of  ex- 
perience, and  I  think  he  would  be  willing  to  advise 
you." 

"  An'  it 's  not  advice  I  'm  wantin'  at  all  !  It 's 
an  invistmint!  An'  if  j-our  honor  '11  be  afther 
invistiri*  the  bit  o'  money  there,  it  's  a  proud 
day  it  '11  be  for  the  ould  man.  It  's  not  the  in- 
terist  I  'm  afther,"  he  added,  with  unmistakable 
intention;  "it  's  an  invistmint!  An'  if  your 


The  Tale  of  an  Old  Coat          307 

honor  '11  put  it  in  your  own  name,  it  's  aisy  I  '11 
be,  an'  well  I  '11  slape  !  " 

The  excitement  had  returned  upon  the  old 
fellow,  and  Truxton  thought  it  well  to  humor 
him — so  far  at  least  as  to  retain  the  custody  of 
the  money  for  the  night.  He  wondered  whether 
the  toast  could  have  gone  to  the  hard  old  head. 
But,  no  !  The  visitor's  step  was  steady  when 
he  rose  to  go,  and  his  speech  was  quite  coherent. 

If  there  had  been  any  doubt  as  to  Flynn's  con- 
dition being  entirely  normal,  it  would  have  been 
dispelled  by  the  studied  nonchalance  with  which 
he  remarked,  when  on  the  point  of  departure  : 
' '  Hersilf  was  in  at  the  bank  wan  day,  wid  a  big 
hat  on  her.  Aw,  but  it  's  spry  she  is  on  her 
feet!" 

And  so  naturally  did  the  information  fall  in 
with  the  steady  undercurrent  of  his  thoughts 
that  Truxton,  far  from  resenting  it,  replied,  au- 
daciously, "  You  ought  to  see  that  young  lady 
paddle  a  canoe,  Flynn  ! ' ' 

Now,  Flynn  knew  nothing  of  canoes,  and  less 
of  paddles,  but  the  manner  of  the  statement  im- 
plied a  confidence  that  he  knew  how  to  value. 
He  did  not  reply  directly,  but,  glancing  up  at 
the  shadowy  old  mansion,  only  faintly  illuminated 
by  a  distant  street-lamp,  he  remarked  :  "  It  's  a 
foine  risidince  yez  have  here,  sorr  ; — fit  for  anny 
lady  in  the  land  !  " — with  which  delicate  insinua- 
tion, the  quaint  old  figure,  in  its  black  coat  and 
silk  hat,  made  a  dignified  exit  at  the  front  gate. 


308  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

Then  Truxton,  still  standing  on  the  lower 
step,  whence  he  had  so  acceptably  sped  his  part- 
ing guest,  glanced  up  at  the  old  house.  Through 
the  window  of  the  library  he  could  see  the  bust 
of  Socrates  gleaming  white,  yet  incalculably  an- 
cient, above  the  rows  of  time-worn  volumes  ;  the 
parlor  at  the  right  of  the  door  had  not  been 
lighted.  Aunt  Lucretia  had  doubtless  fallen 
asleep  after  the  uneventful  day  for  which  she 
had  so  punctiliously  prepared  herself.  The  rest  of 
the  house,  too,  was  wrapped  in  darkness  ;  like 
the  shades  of  the  past,  it  hung  closely,  almost 
obliteratingly,  about  the  sturdy  old  walls. 

A  sudden  pity  clutched  the  young  man's  heart  ; 
pity  for  the  men  of  yesterday,  whose  story  is  told, 
pity  for  the  old  house  that  would  not  long  be  a 
home,  pity  for  the  lonely  old  woman  whose  youth 
was  gone,  pity  for  all  who  were  not,  like  himself, 
at  the  beginning  of  all  things  :  the  beginning  of 
ambition,  the  beginning  of  achievement,  the  be- 
ginning of  something  else  which  he  would  not 
name,  but  which  brought  his  mind  back,  with  a 
strong  impulse  of  tenderness,  to  the  old  man  who 
never  forgot  ' '  how  spry  she  was  on  her  feet  ! ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


THE   PROSE   OF  IT. 

IT  was  close  upon  quarter-day,  and  the  bank 
was  thronged  with  depositors.  Every  man 
of  the  force  was  hard  at  work,  from  Rath- 
bone,  whose  receipts  for  the  day  were  forging 
along  toward  seventy  thousand  dollars,  down  to 
Beardsley,  the  ' '  aisy-goin' , ' '  who  handled  small 
slips  of  white  paper,  whereon  were  inscribed 
mystic  letters  and  figures,  with  an  intensity  of 
concentration  which  left  no  room  for  criticism 
even  in  the  mind  of  Flynn,  his  outspoken  de- 
tractor. Little  Billy  Denison  was  obliged  to  keep 
his  risibles  in  check  in  the  very  face  of  Bridget 
Ballahak,  who  had  grown  if  possible  more  demon- 
strative than  ever  since  last  she  routed  him  ; 
while  Polly  Voo  was  forced  to  confine  his  remarks 
to  the  tersest  English.  Aleck  Plummer,  who 
possessed  the  art  of  canying  on  several  trains  of 
thought  at  once,  doubtless  indulged,  in  many  a 
mental  note  upon  the  salient  points  of  the  sit- 
uation, but  he  refrained  from  embarrassing  the 

309 


3 1  o  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

labored  calculations  of  George  Bodley  with  an 
untimely  enunciation  of  them. 

Flynn  was  in  his  glory,  marshalling  his  flock 
of  vaguely  wandering  capitalists  with  a  consistent 
firmness  that  could  only  have  been  acquired  by 
long  practice.  Yet,  to  the  close  observer,  had 
any  one  commanded  the  leisure  for  enacting 
that  always  remunerative  part,  a  certain  added 
haughtiness  would  have  been  discernible  in  the 
old  man,  an  ineffable  air  of  superiority,  the  mis- 
leading outward  sign  of  an  inward  exultation. 
And,  if  there  was  no  opportunity  on  the  other 
side  of  the  counter  for  the  expression  of  kindred 
emotions,  it  is  nevertheless  true  that  there  was 
not  a  man  in  the  gang  whose  heart  was  not 
lighter,  whose  spirits  were  not  higher  than  they 
had  been  for  many  a  long  day. 

The  ugly  mystery  which  had  hung  over  them 
like  a  pall,  which  had  cast  its  shadow  upon  all 
concerned,  which  had  seemed  to  encompass  the 
bank  itself  in  its  sinister  folds — that  mystery  was 
dispelled,  and  once  more  the  seventy-five  years' 
record  of  the  noble  old  Pilgrim  stood  out  clear  and 
unimpeachable. 

Even  the  front  office  shared  something  of  the 
exhilaration  of  the  moment,  for  Joseph  Rand,  the 
chief  clerk,  had  reported,  after  hours  the  preced- 
ing day,  that  Mr.  Edwin  Coleridge,  the  president 
of  the  bank,  had  made  a  joke  ;  a  thing  which  had 
not  occurred  before  within  the  memory  of  man. 
The  joke  was  an  old  one,  and  one  which  hardly 


The  Prose  of  It  311 

had  the  stamina  for  hard  usage,  yet,  falling  from 
the  unaccustomed  lips  of  the  president,  it  had  be- 
come invested  with  an  importance  not  its  own, 
and,  being  promptly  embalmed  in  the  minds  of 
all  who  heard,  it  was  insured  an  undeserved 
longevity. 

A  report  was  furthermore  current  to  the  effect 
that  Mr.  Smith  had  gone  so  far  as  to  say  that,  if  he 
had  been  mistaken  in  Frank  Truxton,  he  should 
never  have  trusted  his  own  judgment  again  ;  a 
circumstance  which  would  have  caused  a  serious 
revolution  in  Mr.  Smith's  methods,  and  a  general 
reversal  of  his  mental  processes.  For  the  vice- 
treasurer  was  a  student  of  character,  and  he  justly 
considered  as  final  his  conclusions  on  that  head. 

As  the  big  doors  closed  behind  the  last  depositor, 
Flynn  sauntered  up  the  floor,  wrapped  in  the  ap- 
proval of  a  good  conscience.  Andy  Stone,  who 
had  burst  into  uncontrollable  melody,  was  singing: 

"  Beat  the  trumpet,  blow  the  drum, 
Quarter-day  has  almost  come  !  " 

And  although  the  sentiment  in  itself  had  no  im- 
mediate bearing  on  the  situation,  the  triumphant 
strain  was  regarded  by  all  as  a  fit  expression  of  the 
dominant  emotion. 

"  Hullo,  Flynn  !  "  Polly  Voo  called,  with  a 
patronizing  condescension  which  left  Flynn  as 
unaffected  as  water  leaves  a  duck's  back  ;  "  per- 
haps you  would  like  to  know  that  your  protejay 


3 1 2  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

has  come  out  of  his  devil  of  a  scrape  with  no 
bones  broken." 

' '  Has  he,  indade  ?  ' '  Flynn  replied,  not  staying 
his  step,  but  passing,  with  an  air  of  superb  in- 
difference, into  the  back  office.  "  Has  he,  in- 
dade ?  "  he  repeated,  in  a  low,  ecstatic  guttural, 
as  he  pulled  on  his  overcoat,  and  passed  a  hand- 
kerchief affectionately  around  the  glistening 
crown  of  his  silk  hat.  ' '  Has  he,  indade  ?  ' ' 

For  Truxton  had  not  betrayed  the  secret  of 
Flynn' s  ill-starred  financial  stroke  in  his  behalf. 
There  was  not  a  man  in  the  bank  to  whom  he 
would  have  ventured  to  confide  such  a  weapon  as 
that  against  his  old  friend.  And  it  was  with 
scarcely  less  loyalty,  though  by  different  means, 
that  he  had  undertaken  to  shield  the  young  ap- 
prentice in  crime  who  had  so  incontinently  fallen 
a  victim  to  his  own  better  instincts. 

Truxton 's  first  act,  on  the  morning  after  the 
return  of  the  linen  coat  laden  with  such  preposter- 
ous revelations,  was  to  visit  Tim,  where  he  lay, 
chafing  and  fretting,  in  the  hospital  ward.  The 
lad's  exuberant  capers  on  the  treacherous  floor 
of  the  floating  pier  had  resulted  in  a  compound 
fracture  of  a  serious  nature,  and  the  tedious  con- 
finement it  entailed  would  have  been  a  sufficiently 
severe  trial  to  an  active  boy,  had  his  conscience 
been  never  so  free  of  reproach.  To  Tim,  the  days 
and  weeks  of  suspense  had  been  a  period  of  real 
agony  of  mind,  and  the  sudden  apparition  of 
Frank  Truxton,  pregnant  as  it  was  with  distress- 


The  Prose  of  It  313 

ing  possibilities,  was  nothing  short  of  a  relief  to 
him. 

The  interview  was  a  long  one,  and  before  it 
ended  Truxton  knew  that  not  a  fibre  of  the  boy's 
consciousness  but  had  been  laid  bare  to  him.  As 
he  rose  to  go,-  he  took  in  his  own  the  bony  left 
hand,  so  unnaturally,  so  pathetically  clean,  and 
said,  heartily  :  "  Then,  Tim,  that  's  a  bargain. 
I  'm  to  do  what  I  can  to  get  the  bank  to  let  you 
off,  and  when  we  've  set  you  on  your  feet,  you  're 
going  to  walk  straight !  " 

"  I  guess  that  's  so,  sir  !  "  Tim  answered  ;  and 
if  there  was  anything  wanting  to  the  verbal  ex- 
pression of  his  sentiments,  the  vigorous  blinking 
of  his  eyes  against  an  importunate  moisture,  and 
the  intense,  clinging  grip  of  the  bony  hand,  were 
indicative  of  a  degree  of  emotion  which  augured 
well  for  his  sincerity. 

And  even  after  that,  and  even  after  a  memora- 
ble half-hour  spent  in  the  front  office  of  the  bank, 
Truxton  did  not  take  any  immediate  steps  to  come 
again  into  touch  with  Ruth.  He  had  a  curious 
shrinking  from  doing  so.  He  knew  he  could  not 
see  her,  he  doubted  whether  he  could  force  him- 
self to  write  to  her,  without  making  that  direct 
appeal  in  which  he  felt  he  was  not  yet  justified. 
Truxton  was  far  from  sharing  Flynn's  opinion 
that  what  he  wanted  he  must  have.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  believed  more  profoundly  than  ever  that 
what  he  wanted  he  must  earn.  And  if  it  had 
suddenly  been  demonstrated  that  his  record  was 


3 1 4  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

clean,  he  still  felt  that  it  presented  very  little  to 
brag  of. 

' '  Yes, ' '  he  said  to  Harkness  Dole,  in  response 
to  the  congratulations  of  the  latter,  the  day  after 
what  Harvey  Winch  called  the  daynoumong  ;  "it 
seems  it  was  a  blunder  instead  of  a  crime.  Opin- 
ions vary  as  to  which  of  the  two  is  less  discredit- 
able to  the  person  concerned." 

"  I  presume  the  bank  is  clear  on  that  head. 
They  are  ready  to  take  you  on  again,  it  seems?  " 

"  They  profess  to  be;  but  I  don't  really  suppose 
they  think  any  better  of  a  man  for  letting  ten 
thousand  dollars  slip  through  his  fingers.  No, 
Dole  ;  I  have  n't  covered  mjrself  with  glory,  and 
I  don't  propose  to  embarrass  them  by  taking  ad- 
vantage of  their  indulgence.  I  shall  go  back  to- 
morrow, and  lend  a  hand  over  the  October  flurry, 
and  until  they  've  worked  in  their  new  man,  and 
then  I  shall  quit.  It  's  not  much  of  a  sacrifice, 
either,"  he  added  ;  "  for  I  believe  I  have  got  a 
fairly  good  thing  here."  And  he  looked  about 
the  shabby  little  den  where  they  were  sitting, 
with  an  undisguised  pride  of  ownership  that 
struck  his  companion  as  indication  of  the  ' '  stuff ' ' 
that  was  in  him. 

It  was  the  first  time  the  two  men  had  met  since 
the  Sunday  evening  when  Dole  had  suffered  signal 
defeat  in  his  effort  to  straighten  things  out.  He 
had  respected  Truxton's  very  evident  wish  to  be 
left  alone,  and  he  had  persuaded  the  demonstrative 
Shepleigh  to  do  the  same,  after  the  latter,  also, 


The  Prose  of  It  315 

had  been  baffled  in  his  attempt  at  intervention. 
Now,  however,  things  were  changed,  and  no 
sooner  had  he  learned  that  this  was  the  case  than 
he  made  haste  to  look  Truxton  up. 

He  found  him  hard  at  work  in  his  new  office, 
and  although  the  room  was  small  and  dim  and 
scantily  furnished,  it  had  already  taken  on  that 
air  of  respectability  which  emanates  from  a  desk, 
a  swivel-chair,  a  city  directory,  and  a  clerkly 
ledger.  There  were  no  shades  in  the  two  win- 
dows, which  opened  upon  a  paved  courtyard,  but 
the  panes  were  clean,  and  invited  the  little  light 
there  was.  A  map  of  the  city  hung  opposite  the 
window,  and,  in  a  shadowy  corner,  Dole  espied  a 
paddle  standing,  blade  upwards,  against  the  wall. 
On  the  desk  near  the  inkstand  lay  a  piece  of 
common  evergreen.  It  was  all  like  an  open  book 
to  Dole. 

"  You  've  got  a  snug  little  hole  here,"  he  re- 
marked; "  but  you  '11  need  larger  quarters  before 
long." 

"  I  hardly  think  so,"  Truxton  rejoined.  "  A 
hanging  book-shelf  and  a  good  safe  is  all  I  need 
for  the  present,  and  there  's  plenty  of  room  for 
that." 

Dole  hesitated  a  moment.  He  had  been  routed 
once  by  this  young  fellow  with  the  youthful,  in- 
experienced face — less  inexperienced,  now,  how- 
ever, than  it  had  been.  There  were  no  new  lines 
that  he  could  discover,  but  it  struck  him  that  the 
whole  expression  of  the  face  was  somehow  less 


3 1 6  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

pliant ;  that  there  was  a  new  significance  in  the 
look  of  the  eyes,  always  alert,  but  now  grown  in- 
tent. He  should  not,  to-day,  have  questioned  the 
existence  of  nerve  in  the  possessor  of  this  counte- 
nance ;  he  should  have  credited  him  at  once  with 
a  sure  aim,  whatever  weapon  he  might  elect  to  use. 

Dole  was  smoking,  as  a  man  will  when  he 
wishes  to  seem  more  at  his  ease  than  he  is. 
Truxton  was  conscious  of  no  such  necessity. 
There  had  been  no  appreciable  pause  in  the  talk, 
for  these  observations,  which  take  time  when 
reduced  to  words,  had  been  merely  a  matter  of 
total  impression  in  Dole's  mind. 

' '  I  may  as  well  tell  you, ' '  he  was  saying,  ' '  that 
I  am  the  party  who  has  been  negotiating  for  that 
property  of  yours." 

"I  knew  it,"  said  Truxton,  composedly; 
"  either  you  or  Shepleigh." 

' '  How  did  you  know  ?  ' ' 

"  Because  things  were  going  so  smoothly." 

"  I  did  not  offer  more  than  it  was  worth." 

"  No  ;  but  you  did  not  offer  less  ;  so  of  course  I 
knew." 

"  Nevertheless,  from  a  business  point  of  view 
I  am  disappointed  not  to  get  it." 

"  Very  likely,"  Truxton  assented,  with  frank 
scepticism  ;  ' '  only  yours  did  not  happen  to  be  the 
business  point  of  view." 

"  Not  when  I  went  into  it,  I  grant  you.  But 
I  have  looked  things  over  pretty  carefully  since 
then,  and  I  think  it  a  good  investment." 


The  Prose  of  It  317 

"  Do  you  still  want  it  ?  " 

"  As  an  investment,  I  should  be  glad  of  it  ;  but 
— I  shall  not  take  it. ' ' 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  Truxton  ab- 
sently turned  the  leaves  of  the  directory.  Dole, 
perceiving  that  he  had  something  to  say,  waited 
for  him  to  speak. 

"  See  here,  Dole,"  Truxton  said,  at  last ;  "  is 
that  money  of  yours  still  going  begging  ?  ' ' 

"Yes." 

"  Why  could  n't  we " 

"  Exactly  !  "  Dole  cut  in.  "  That  is  what  I 
was  coming  at.  The  fact  is, ' '  and  he  settled  back, 
as  comfortably  as  might  be,  in  his  wooden  chair  ; 
"  the  fact  is,  I  've  had  something  of  the  sort  in 
mind  for  years,  but  I  have  n't  known  where  to 
turn  for  a  manager. ' ' 

"  There  are  several  pieces  of  property  in  this 
vicinity  that  are  going  down  hill.  It  's  a  good 
centre. ' ' 

"  And  you  think  we  could  make  a  purchase  ?  " 

"  It  's  my  opinion  that  we  could.  The  thing 
has  n't  paid  so  well,  lately,  because  the  decent 
class  of  tenants  fight  shy  of  these  rattle-traps. 
But  the  locality  has  its  advantages,  and  if  we 
couM  lump  things  a  little  we  could  work  up  a 
feature  or  two  that  would  draw.  What  I  should 
aim  for  in  the  end ' ' — and  Truxton  leaned  forward, 
warming  to  his  subject — ' '  would  be  pretty  much 
all  the  block, — four  sides  of  it, — with  a  big  play- 
ground for  the  kids  and  a  fountain  in  the  middle. 


3 1 8  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

Tell  you  what,  Dole,  a  fountain  would  be  money 
in  our  pockets  ! ' ' 

A  contemplative  puff  of  blue  rings  issued  from 
between  Dole's  lips,  before  he  said  :  "  I  suppose 
if  we  got  a  good  start  we  could  kind  of  crowd  the 
others  out ;  eh  f  " 

"  That  's  the  idea  !  And  when  we  were  once 
on  our  legs,  we  could  make  our  payments  in  stock 
— if  we  wanted  to. ' ' 

' '  Have  you  talked  with  anyone  about  this  ?  ' ' 

"  Yes  ;  with  Bowdoin  J.  Wheeler.  He  was 
sceptical  at  first ;  it  's  his  business  to  be.  He 
was  afraid  it  smacked  of  philanthropy.  But  I 
dwelt  upon  the  sordid  gains,  and  he  's  caving — 
gradually.  He  has  been  playing  into  my  hands 
lately.  He  has  given  me  two  permanent  jobs." 

"  Do  you  expect  him  to  take  a  hand  in  the 
scheme  ?  ' ' 

"  Can't  tell ;  he  's  one  of  these  cautious  chaps. 
You  never  know  which  way  they  '11  jump.  But 
I  've  got  a  five  years'  lease  on  this  property  of 
his,  and  I  rather  expect  to  haul  it  in  and  him 
with  it,  before  we  are  through." 

Later,  after  some  further  discussion  of  available 
properties  :  ' '  How  much  do  you  think  you  could 
handle  ?  ' '  Dole  asked. 

' '  More  than  we  could  get  hold  of ;  and  of 
course  the  sooner  we  need  a  clerk  the  better." 

"  I  rather  think  we  should  expand  pretty  fast. 
I  'm  ready  to  go  in  to  the  amount  of  something 
considerable,  myself,  and  I  know  one  or  two  men 


The  Prose  of  It  319 

who  might  like  it.  I  don't  think  we  shall  have 
any  lack  of  capital.  And,  by  the  way,  Truxton, 
you  must  stick  out  for  your  commission.  Don't 
listen  to  any  talk  of  salary." 

"  A  salary  !  I  should  think  not  !  Just  you 
wait  and  see  if  I  don't  carry  things  with  a  high 
hand  !  But,  seriously,  Dole  ;  we  '11  get  matters 
arranged  to  suit  ourselves  before  we  let  anyone 
else  in  ;  won't  we  ?  " 

"  I  fancy  we  can  manage  to  keep  control  of 
things,"  Dole  opined,  with  a  comfortable  assur- 
ance. "  Have  you  anybody  in  mind  to  come  in 
with  us?" 

"  Well,  yes  ;  I  have  :  "  and  Truxton  picked  up 
the  bit  of  evergreen  and,  lifting  it  to  his  face,  drew 
in  the  lingering  fragrance  with  a  deep  breath. 

Dole,  who  fancied  that  he  could  guess  the 
direction  his  companion's  thoughts  had  taken, 
was  far  afield  in  his  surmise.  And  even  had  the 
gift  of  second  sight  been  his,  to  the  extent  of 
showing  him  the  secluded  eyrie  of  the  pilgrim 
sage, — carpet-covered  sofa,  Turkey-red  hangings, 
blue  glass  vase  and  all, — he  could  hardly  have 
divined  its  many-sided  associations  in  Truxton' s 
mind. 

"  And  who  is  it  ?  "  he  inquired,  rather  reluct- 
antly, for  he  had  an  impression  that  he  must  seem 
very  obtuse  to  pursue  the  mater-of-fact  theme  of 
their  discourse. 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  and  Truxton  laid  down  the 
bit  of  evergreen,  but  not  before  his  thoughts  had 


320  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

veered  in  the  direction  Dole  had  already  imputed 
to  them, — "do  you  suppose  the  concern  is  safe 
enough  for  us  to  let  in  our  old  janitor  ?  He  has 
set  his  heart  upon  some  sort  of  partnership  with 
me."  And  thereupon  Truxton  told  the  tale  of 
the  linen  coat,  and  with  none  the  less  relish  for  the 
abstemiousness  he  had  hitherto  observed  on  the 
subject. 

Dole  listened,  half  incredulous,  cudgelling  his 
brain  for  some  explanation,  other  than  the  obvi- 
ous one,  of  such  a  phenomenal  exhibition  of 
magnanimity.  It  was  something  too  contrary  to 
his  experience  to  be  accounted  for  in  terms  of 
every-day  philosophy. 

"  What  did  you  say  to  him  ?  "  he  asked,  re- 
garding Truxton  with  open  curiosity. 

' '  I  believe  I  first  called  him  names,  and  then  I 
told  him  that  if  I  had  known  he  was  such  a 
capitalist,  I  should  have  applied  to  him  before." 

"  Which  was  not  strictly  veracious." 

"  No  ;  only  civilized  !  "  and,  with  a  flash  of 
reminiscence,  both  men  recalled  the  occasion  of 
their  first  meeting,  the  candles  and  the  flowers 
and  the  light  talk  of  that  dinner,  and  both,  pre- 
sumably, thought  of  Ruth. 

"  You  have  the  gift,  Truxton,"  Dole  remarked, 
sighing  heavily.  He  had  not  done  such  a  thing 
in  public  before  since  he  was  grown  up.  Yet  the 
tone  was  a  cheerful  one  in  which  he  continued  : 
"  You  're  evidently  the  man  to  deal  with  the 
paddy-whacks, — to  say  nothing  of  the  rest  of  us  !  " 


The  Prose  of  It  321 

"And  you  think  we  might  let  Flynn  in?" 
Truxton  persisted,  still  very  much  in  earnest. 
"  We  could  give  him  extra  securities,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  we  '11  make  it  as  good  as  governments 
— and  at  six  per  cent  !  The  old  chap  cast  his 
bread  upon  the  waters,  that  time,  with  a  venge- 
ance !  " 

' '  I  suppose  he  did  ;  but,  do  you  know,  Dole, ' ' 
and  Truxton  picked  up  the  bit  of  evergreen  once 
more,  and  once  more  he  lifted  it,  absently,  to  his 
face,  "  I  can't  get  it  out  of  my  head  that  Flynn 
has  somehow  been  the  arbiter  of  my  destinies  ! 
When  he  cocks  his  head  on  one  side  and  patronizes 
me,  I  can't,  for  the  life  of  me,  keep  from  feeling 
that  my  fate  is  in  his  hands  !  ' ' 

"  Flynn  is  your  creation,  Truxton,"  Dole  re- 
joined ;  "  and  I  don't  know  that  you  could  be  in 
better  hands." 

' '  My  creation  ?     How  do  you  make  that  out  ?  ' ' 

' '  It  is  very  easily  demonstrated.  You  certainly 
can't  deny  that  your  Flynn  is  a  totally  different 
person  from  anybody's  else  Flynn.  And  what- 
ever it  is  in  you  that  has  called  him  out,  it  is  a 
kind  of  fate  that  will  see  you  through  !  " 

This  somewhat  oracular  statement  was  delivered 
with_such  unaccustomed  warmth  of  conviction, 
that  Truxton,  dropping  his  bit  of  evergreen, 
laughed  outright. 

"  Look  here,  Dole,"  he  cried,  "is  it  my  vote 
you  're  after  ?  " 

"  No,  Truxton,"   and  the  answer  was  given 


322  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

with  a  calm  disregard  of  his  companion's  irrever- 
ent mirth  ;  "  no  ;  what  I  hope  for,  as  you  very 
well  know,  is  a  chance  to  cast  my  vote  for  you, 
one  of  these  days." 

Then  Truxton,  in  his  turn  grown  suddenly 
serious,  said  :  "  There  's  no  telling  what  may 
happen — one  of  these  days.  That  is  what  makes 
life  so  tremendously  worth  while  !  ' ' 

"  You  find  life  worth  while,  then  ?  " 

"  I  do,  indeed  ;  don't  you  ?  " 

Dole  hesitated,  looking  across  at  the  strong, 
hopeful  young  face  he  liked  so  well  ;  and  then  he 
answered,  quietly  : 

"  Once  in  a  great  while,  perhaps — by  proxy  !  " 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE   POETRY   OF  IT. 

ONE  glorious  October  day  Frank  Truxton 
came  striding  along  that  humble  thor- 
oughfare which  lends  its  name  to  Miss 
Vickery's  Broad  Street  block,  whistling  like  a 
mocking-bird.  If  the  tune  of  the  Lumberman1  s 
Ditty  was  lending  itself  with  surprising  elasticity 
to  a  simple  theme  quite  unrelated  to  it  in  rhythm 
and  metre ;  if  the  strictly  trochaic  refrain :  ' '  Ruth 
is  coming  home  to-day,"  had  no  quarrel  with  the 
anapaestic  swing  of  the  melody  adapted  more  par- 
ticularly to  : 

"  Give  a  shauty  boy  rum  and  there  's  nothing  goes 
wrong ! " 

this  was  perhaps  due  to  the  broadly  harmonizing 
mood  of  the  performer's  mind. 

Ruth  was  coming  home  to-day — so  much  he 
had  learned  from  Caleb — and  this  very  evening 
he  should  be  with  her  in  the  pleasant  old  house 
in  the  elm-grown  square.  He  should  look  into 
her  face,  he  should  hear  her  voice,  he  should 

323 


324  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

touch  her  hand  ;  and  at  last,  at  last,  he  should 
be  free  to  follow  the  promptings  of  the  moment. 
He  did  not  try  to  foretell  what  they  would  be  ; 
he  was  content  to  trust  himself  to  them.  Enough, 
that  Ruth  was  coming  home  to-day  ! 

To  whistle  in  tune  is  a  less  usual  accomplish- 
ment than  is  generally  believed,  and  it  lends  an 
individuality  to  the  note  which  may  be  recognized 
even  by  those  who  are  incapable  of  defining  it. 
The  Widow  O'Toole,  for  instance,  was  wont  to  rise 
hastily  to  her  feet,  the  moment  that  particular 
sound  struck  her  ear,  and  to  take  agitated  counsel 
with  her  looking-glass  before  responding  to  the 
rap  which  was  sure  to  follow. 

To-day,  however,  that  excellent  tenant  had 
stepped  upstairs  an  hour  since,  just  to  show  a 
neighborly  interest  in  the  new  tooth  appertaining 
to  the  Talligan  baby,  and  so  animated  was  the 
conversation  with  the  baby's  mother,  to  the  de- 
lights of  which  she  had  succumbed,  and  so  spirit- 
edly was  it  carried  on  by  both  ladies  at  once,  that 
the  cheerful  whistle  quite  escaped  the  widow's 
notice. 

Yet  the  pleasant  tenement  on  the  ground  floor 
was  not  deserted,  nor  was  that  familiar  strain  lost 
upon  the  temporary  occupant  of  the  O'Toole 
rocker.  Ruth  Ware,  sitting,  lost  in  thought,  at 
the  sunny  kitchen  window  behind  the  geraniums, 
experienced  a  sudden  sense  as  of  the  breath  of 
balsam  and  the  sound  of  crackling  birch-wood. 
The  color  flew  to  her  cheek,  and  she  sprang  to 


The  Poetry  of  It  325 

her  feet  and  stood,  with  'bated  breath,  waiting. 
She  did  not  answer  the  short,  sharp  rap  that  came 
at  the  door.  It  was  himsilf,  and  he  would  enter 
as  he  had  done  on  that  day  when  they  had  first  met 
and  talked  together. 

Then  Truxton  turned  the  handle,  noticing, 
with  the  quickness  bred  of  habit,  that  it  was  get- 
ting a  bit  loose  in  the  socket,  and,  as  he  closed 
the  door  behind  him,  he  glanced  through  into  the 
kitchen.  There,  in  a  wide  shaft  of  sunshine, 
stood  a  figure  clad  in  a  dark-green  gown,  the 
warm,  soft  coil  of  hair  showing  beneath  the  dark 
felt  hat,  just  as  it  had  done  so  many  months  ago, 
and  stirring  in  Truxton  a  reminiscence  of  the  way 
the  September  sunshine  had  lighted  up  the  deep 
green  of  the  pine- woods  only  yesterday  ! 

He  did  not  pause  to  notice  whether  the  mistress 
of  the  establishment  was  present,  he  did  not  yet 
take  in  the  miracle  of  her  absence.  With  eyes 
and  thoughts  for  nothing  but  the  girl  he  loved, 
the  girl  he  had  almost  lost,  the  girl  he  must  win 
now,  to-day,  this  very  hour,  he  crossed  the  inter- 
vening space,  and  his  two  hands  clasped  both  of 
Ruth's  in  a  strong,  firm  clasp,  as  masterful  and 
as  tender  as  the  power  which  drew  them  together. 

And  neither  Ruth  nor  Truxton  thought  to  say 
a  word  at  the  very  first ;  and  although  the  mo- 
ment of  silence  was  but  a  moment,  it  seemed  to 
each  an  incalculable  space  of  time,  a  time  of 
clearest  vision,  of  profoundest  understanding. 

Ruth  was  the  first  to  recover  her  self-possession. 


326  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

Withdrawing  her  hands  gently,  and  not  in  the 
least  as  if  she  were  denying  him  anything,  she 
said,  with  a  curious  little  catch  of  feeling  in  her 
voice  :  "  We  shall  have  to  get  Margaret  to  intro- 
duce us  all  over  again, — the  time  has  been  so 
long  !  " 

"  Long  !  "  said  Truxton  ;  "  it  has  been  a  life- 
time !  Yes,"  with  a  conviction  half  jest,  half 
earnest,  "  I  am  sure  it  has  been  a  lifetime,  and 
that,  of  course,  makes  us  old  folks  !  And  so  the 
time  has  come  for  me  to  tell  you — what  was  it 
that  I  was  going  to  tell  you  ?  " 

"  Something  very  foolish,  I  am  sure,  for  you 
were  in  a  very  foolish  frame  of  mind  when  you 
wrote  that  miserable  little  note." 

"Foolish?"  he  repeated.  "Foolish?  Do 
you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  think  so,  but — I  am  glad  you 
wrote  it." 

"Why?" 

"  Because — "  she  hesitated,  and,  turning  to- 
ward the  window,  she  pressed  a  geranium  leaf  be- 
tween her  fingers  to  wake  the  sleeping  fragrance. 
"  Because — it  was  like  you." 

He  came  and  stood  beside  her.  He  could  not 
see  her  face  now — it  was  hidden  by  the  rim  of  her 
hat,  as  she  bent  over  the  flowers, — but  he  could 
divine  the  look  in  it. 

"  If  it  was  like  me  to  be  foolish  then,"  he  an- 
swered, gently,  "  I  am  grown  very  wise  now  ;  too 
wise  to  mistake  the  true  relation  of  things  again." 


The  Poetry  of  It  327 

And  Ruth  stood  very  still,  looking  out  into  the 
sunny  yard,  where  a  desultory  blue  apron  on  the 
clothes-line  rose  and  fell  with  the  stirring  of  a 
light  breeze. 

"  I  should  not  again  be  deterred  by  any  ex- 
ternal thing  from  seeking — "  he  paused  an  in- 
stant— "  from  seeking  the  best  gifts." 

Then  Ruth,  with  an  instinctive  impulse  to  de- 
fer the  utterance  of  that  word  ^/hich  was  too 
precious  to  be  hastened,  too  sure  of  being  spoken 
to  be  jeopardized  by  delay,  said,  quietly  :  "I 
think  you  have  been  seeking  the  best  gifts  ever 
since  I  have  known  you.  And  now  Harkness 
Dole  has  told  me  that  you  have  the  means  of 
doing  so  much,  so  much ! ' ' 

"  Yes,"  Truxton  answered,  accepting  the  mo- 
mentary swerving  from  his  theme  which  she  had 
decreed,  "  yes  ;  and  apart  from  its  being  a  means 
of  livelihood,  it  is  the  work  I  care  most  for — to 
help  very  poor  people  to  decent  homes.  I  am 
sure  it  means  a  great  deal  to  them." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  said  Ruth.  "  It  has  been 
the  dream  of  my  life  to  do  that,  or  at  least  to  see 
it  done.  There  is  so  little  that  a  woman  can 
really  do." 

-"  And  yet,"  said  Truxton,  gravely,  "  we  all 
know  that  without  a  woman  there  can  never  be  a 
home.  Ruth,"  and  his  voice  dropped  to  a  low 
tone  of  passionate  entreaty,  ' '  Ruth,  am  I  to  have 
a  home — one  of  these  days?  At  your  hands, 
Ruth?" 


328  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

And  it  was  Ruth's  face — not  her  lips — Ruth's 
face,  that  ' '  thought  of  God, ' '  that  answered  him, 
as  she  placed  her  hand  in  his. 

Then  a  canary-bird  over  the  way  burst  into  the 
most  ecstatic  strain,  and  the  blue  apron  in  the 
yard  began  a  dance  of  joy,  and  the  scarlet  gera- 
nium fairly  gleamed  in  the  sunshine,  and,  under 
cover  of  all  that  joyous  rioting,  Ruth  and  Truxton 
entered  into  Paradise. 

And  presently — was  it  a  moment  later  ?  was  it 
an  hour  ? — the  Widow  O'Toole  appeared,  breath- 
less but  voluble.  She  had  not  been  five  minutes 
away  an'  it  was  Mr.  Talligan  as  had  got  a  job  on 
the  electrics  an'  Mrs.  Talligan  that  proud  you  'd 
ha'  thought  her  man  was  the  Prisidint  himsilf  an' 
she,  Mrs.  O'Toole,  had  seen  the  Prisidint  wid  her 
own  eyes  whin  she  was  a  gyurl  an'  beggin'  your 
pardon  the  possessor  of  a  nate  figger  of  her  own 
an'  what  was  the  Prisidint  but  a  man  in  coat  an' 
pants  like  anny  other  man  ?  An'  a  foine  thing 
it  was  to  have  a  man  on  the  electrics  an'  his  pay 
comin'  in  reg'lar  bad  times  an'  good  times  an'  the 
childer  growin'  up  an'  Dinnis  sellin'  papers  wid 
a  voice  on  him  as  wad  make  your  blood  run 
cowld  wid  his  murdhers  an'  explosions  an'  rail- 
road accidints  ! 

And  Ruth  and  Truxton,  being  in  Paradise, 
found  the  voluble  widow  as  interesting  and  ex- 
hilarating a  companion  as  an  angel  with  wings. 

Would  Margaret  come  and  work  for  Mrs.  Ware 
a  few  days  and  help  them  get  the  house  to  rights 


The  Poetry  of  It  329 

for  the  winter  ?  She  would  that  !  An'  she  had 
tould  Mrs.  Talligan  only  yisterday,  no,  it  was 
Monday  whin  they  was  both  hangin'  out  the  wash 
an'  they  always  done  it  peaceable  an'  no  words 
between  'em  like  the  Widow  Dolan  an'  Kate 
McCoy  that  niver  could  stand  in  the  same  yard 
an'  not  fight  she  'd  work  her  fingers  to  the  bone 
for  Mrs.  Ware  anny  day  in  the  week  for  the  sake 
of  Miss  Ruth  an'  the  swate  eyes  of  her.  An'  it 
was  the  nixt  marnin'  she  was  wanted  ?  The  nixt 
marnin'  she  wad  come  ready  to  turn  her  hand  to 
annything  Miss  Ruth's  honorable  mother  might 
require.  An'  was  it  two  dollars  Misther  Trooxton 
was  wantin'  ?  An'  if  it  was  two  hunderd  he 
should  have  it  for  there  was  nothing  she  wad  re- 
fuse to  himsilf  as  himsilf  was  always  so  accommo- 
datin' ! 

Now  Mrs.  O'Toole,  with  all  her  natural  gift  of 
eloquence,  was  not  often  betrayed  into  such  ex- 
travagant hyperbole  as  this.  She  was  clearly 
under  the  stimulus  of  some  unusual  excitement, 
and  both  her  guests  fell  to  speculating  as  to  what 
it  might  be.  They  were  destined  to  discover  that, 
with  all  their  pride  in  her  acquaintance,  they  had 
not  yet  fathomed  the  O'Toole.  On  the  contrary, 
it'was  the  O'Toole  who  had  fathomed  them  ! 

Was  it  because  they  took  so  naturally  to  one 
another's  society  ?  Was  it  because  they  were  so 
manifestly  destined  for  one  another  ?  Was  it  be- 
cause of  a  certain  look  on  their  faces  which  her 
torrent  of  eloquence  had  failed  to  dispel  ? 


33°  One  of  the  Pilgrims 

As  she  opened  the  door  for  their  simultaneous 
departure,  she  exclaimed,  with  a  pious  impetuosity 
not  to  be  restrained,  nor  yet  to  be  misunderstood  : 
1 '  The  saints  save  ye — the  twos  of  ye  !  ' ' — and  then, 
with  a  sudden  change  of  tone  from  the  spiritual 
to  the  mundane,  she  called  after  them  :  "  An' 
niver  forget  that  it  was  the  Widow  O'Toole  as 
made  yez  acquainted  !  " 

When  they  had  beaten  a  hasty  retreat,  Truxton, 
with  a  joyous  laugh  that  scorned  the  thought  of 
discomfiture,  said:  "  Since  blessings  are  in  order, 
Ruth,  what  do  you  say  to  coming  to  see  Aunt 
Lucretia  ?  It  's  only  fifteen  minutes'  walk,  and 
— it  's  her  day,"  he  added,  with  a  humorous  ap- 
preciation of  the  general  fitness  of  things. 

And  Ruth,  as  joyful  as  he,  and  as  spontaneous, 
accepted. 

"  For,  to  tell  the  truth," — she  said,  with  a  little 
buoyant  thrill  in  her  voice,  as  if  she  were  so  happy 
that  she  could  afford  to  make  game  of  herself, 
— "  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  have  longed  to  know 
Miss  Vickery,  ever  since  Margaret  described  her, 
'  wid  the  red  scarf  around  hersilf.'  And  since  you 
would  not  make  it  easy  for  me,  you  have  forced 
me  to  extreme  measures." 

If  only  Flynn  could  have  seen  Ruth's  dancing 
eyes,  if  only  he  could  have  heard  the  daring 
challenge  of  Truxton's  voice,  as  he  retorted  : 
"  Then  I  am  to  understand  that  it  is  solely  to 
Aunt  Lucretia  that  I  owe  a  certain  gratifying 


The  Poetry  of  It 


331 


admission  that  you  made  to  me,  a  few  minutes 
ago?" 

' '  To  Aunt  Lucretia,  yes, ' '  she  said ;  ' '  and ' ' 

"And ?" 

' '  And — to  himsilf !  ' ' 

THE   END. 


BY   ANNA   FULLER. 

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ONE  OF  THE  PILGRIMS. 
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G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS,  NHW  YORK  AND  LONDON. 


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THE  HEAD  OF  THE  FAMILY. 

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